


Iris

by writterings



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (somewhat), Alternate Universe, Banter, Courtship, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Thinks He Is a Monster, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writterings/pseuds/writterings
Summary: AU. Monsters are all but extinct, but Witchers have yet to die out. With nothing to hunt, though, they are relegated to taking on some less-than-Witcher-like jobs. When Jaskier runs away from the restrictive life of being a viscount and joins a traveling group of performers, he meets one of these Witchers. While Geralt is rude and abrasive, Jaskier finds himself becoming friends with him...and maybe a bit more. That is, if he can avoid running into any of his father's men hunting him down and he can get through to Geralt that he isn't a monster.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 52
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier watched as the woman’s eyes darted back and forth between him and her granddaughter. He didn’t falter under the gaze, though he definitely felt like she wanted him to. Instead, he purposefully stared straight back directly into her eyes. Next to him, the woman’s granddaughter, Ciri, was smiling hopefully. 

“No,” the woman said, scowling.

Ciri immediately frowned. “But grandmother-”

“I said no.”

Ciri sighed but her voice did not falter. “But he’s talented. He’s a bard. He would be of use around here!”

The woman frowned again and looked back to Jaskier. “You,” she said as she pointed. She was a middle-aged woman, probably around her mid-fifties. Her long brown hair matched her eyes, which were cool and calculating. She was white, but obviously spent enough time in the sun to be tanned. “Tell me your name.”

“Jaskier.”

“Just Jaskier? No last name? No village that you’re from?”

“Just Jaskier.” He paused for a moment, thinking about the best way he could make himself seem employable. “Uh, well -- however, I _do_ consider myself a citizen of _every_ village I visit, I suppose. A citizen of the Continent if you will! A man of the p-”

“Shut up,” the woman barked. “I am Calanthe, though around here I am known as the ‘Lioness’ or ‘Her Majesty’.” Her lips twisted upward, almost a smirk. She leaned back in her chair and set her face in a frown again. “Tell me, Jaskier -- how did you happen across my granddaughter in the woods?”

“He-” Ciri started.

Calanthe put up a hand. “I asked the so-called bard.”

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said, gesturing at the lute on his back. “I was playing my newest tune while sitting by the most _prepossessing_ river and-”

“Enough!” Calanthe snapped, turning to her granddaughter. “Ciri. What happened?”

“I heard him playing his music in the woods as I was out looking for Geralt, and we began talking.” Ciri reached over and grabbed Jaskier’s hand, holding it up for emphasis. “And then we became friends!”

Calanthe didn’t seem impressed. “Friends?”

Jaskier felt her scrutiny intensify, and he and Ciri dropped hands, as if they were being physically threatened by the daggers in her eyes. Jaskier cleared his throat. 

“She enjoyed my music,” he said, “and I enjoyed her company. She told me that you were in need of a performer or a laborer of some sort, and I said I would be able to do either.”

Calanthe raised her eyebrows and her demeanor changed slightly. There was interest now - not in him as a person, but from what she could get out of him. “Why didn’t you just say that from the start? Performers require skill and talent. Laborers just need to be able to lift heavy things. You’re hired.”

“Madam - _Your Highness_ \- I assure you that I am both skilled and talented as a performer-” 

“Do you want the job or not?” 

Ciri kicked Jaskier in the back of the leg as he hesitated. “Yes, please,” he finally said. 

“Good.” Calanthe finally smiled, though it was not warm. “Let me find you a contract, and you can start immediately. Ciri-” she stood up. “Keep an eye on your ‘friend’ here, will you?”

“Yes, grandmother!” Ciri said as Calanthe got up and went into the tent behind her.

Jaskier sighed and turned to Ciri. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely. “I really did need a job.”

“Though you would prefer to be a performer?”

Jaskier nodded and sighed again. “A job’s a job, I guess.” He then straightened up and took in all the sights around him. “Speaking of which, what exactly are you people?”

They were in an open field, on the outskirts of a forest and along the side of the road. All around Jaskier was a small tent city. They were the typical traveler’s tents, in the sense that they could be packed up quickly but also could be lived in for weeks at a time without being taken down - all of them dull beige with various bits of patchwork on them.

Ciri had taken him to the biggest and most expensive looking one (meaning the one with the least number of repairs), near the middle of the group, where Calanthe had been sitting out front on some sort of collapsible chair while reading.

Ciri smiled at his question. “We’re a traveling company of performers. My grandmother’s in charge.”

“Ah,” Jaskier said, feeling a little more dejected now. “And what do you do?”

“Hmm…” Ciri thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain. I guess I’ll just have to show you when I’m actually performing.”

He scrutinized the girl for a moment, taking in her stature. He assumed she was no older than twelve or thirteen, though she could potentially be older -- Jaskier was always a bad judge of these things. Her hair was light blonde, she had pale white skin, and her eyes were rounded and blue.

“Alright,” Jaskier said after a moment. “And what will I be doing?”

“Oh! That’s easy. Mostly doing cleanup-work, cooking, and assisting with our Witcher. Relatively easy things, if you’re used to work.”

“Of course I am,” Jaskier said a bit too quickly. “But, er, what’s a Witcher?”

“You’ve never heard of one? I suppose they are rare these days. A Witcher is a type of person.” Ciri seemed to think for a minute then sighed. “Oh, it’s dreadfully hard to explain. Geralt or even Mousesack would be able to explain it better, once you’ve been introduced to them.”

Jaskier shrugged, not one to get worked up over the unknown. “Then I look forward to meeting them.”

Calanthe came back out of her tent, looking annoyed. “Takes forever to find these damned things,” she muttered. She held out a piece of parchment to Jaskier. “Just make your mark at the bottom. You’ll be paid in food and shelter, and you’ll make a small percent of whatever profit we pull in at each city. If you can’t read, I can read it to you.”

Jaskier took the paper and scanned it over, seeing it essentially said the same thing as Calanthe had just said with a few more details. Calanthe also handed him a piece of charcoal, which he took and wrote _Jaskier_ only somewhat legibly at the bottom of the page due to the awkward grip he had on the improvised writing implement. 

Calanthe took it back, glanced at his mark, and nodded. “Welcome to the company, Jaskier. Dinner is at dusk. Since it’s your first day, you can be exempt from cooking until you’re familiar with everyone else but otherwise you’ll be expected to make or at least help with all meals.”

“Understood. Thank you -” he thought for a second “ _-Queen_ Calanthe.”

Calanthe stared at him haughtily for a second, then smiled. Genuinely. “Now that I like.” She then smirked. “But not your cheek. You better be the best damn laborer on the Continent, or I will not hesitate to show you why I’m called the ‘Lioness’.”

Jaskier nodded. 

“Ciri, dear,” she said, picking up the chair she had been sitting on outside her tent. “Can you give our new laborer a quick tour and make some introductions? But be back before dark, it’s going to be a cold night.”

“Of course, grandmother!”

“Good girl.” Calanthe went inside her tent. 

“Don’t pay much mind to anything she says, grandmother's bark is worse than her bite.” Ciri turned to Jaskier again and grabbed his hand. “Now here! I’ll show you to your tent.”

Jaskier was then dragged to the outer side of the grouping of tents, to where a man was stoking a fire with a cauldron hanging above it. He learned the man’s name was Mousesack, and that Jaskier would be sharing a tent and some of his workload with him.

“I used to be a performer - did an illusion act of sorts - but I’m getting on in my years,” Mousesack had said. “So, I mostly just help around camp, since it’s getting harder and harder to do a sleight of hand when your hands refuse to move as fast as they used to.”

He had given Jaskier and Ciri each a bowl of the stew he had been cooking and sent them on their way. They ate, without spoons, as they walked and Ciri took him to nearly every tent in the group. During this time, he met Eist, a middle-aged man with a happy smile; Triss, a kind-looking though obviously mischievous woman; and Dara, a nervous boy a little older than Ciri. 

After returning Mousesack’s bowls, Jaskier chatted with Ciri a bit about what he was expected to do daily and how. It was now getting dark, and Jaskier offered to walk Ciri back to Calanthe’s tent. She had objected at first, claiming that there was one more person he still needed to meet, but he told her that he was happy to meet them tomorrow. It was obvious she was growing nervous about disobeying her grandmother. 

“It’s so exciting to have someone new around,” Ciri said as Jaskier tried not to stumble in the low light. “Especially one that can play music. I think everyone’s going to love you right away.”

Jaskier smiled. “I do hope so.”

They paused outside Calanthe’s tent. “You’ll be able to find Mousesack’s tent, right?”

“Of course I will! But thank you for the concern, Ciri.” Jaskier stared at her and smiled again. “Also...thank you, again, for all of this. I really was in trouble when you found me in the forest.”

“My pleasure…” Ciri said, eyes sparkling as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “ _Julian_.”

Jaskier playfully grabbed her hand and swatted it lightly in a mock _tsk-tsk_ fashion as she giggled. “Now, that’s our little secret!”

“Of course, of course.” Ciri smiled and then lunged forward, giving him a quick hug. She was then off of him in a split second and heading into the tent. “Goodnight, Jaskier!”

Jaskier stood there for a moment longer, and then turned to go find his abode for the night. 

This proved to be a harder task than anticipated, he realized a second after he started walking. He was pretty sure that he would be able to navigate the small tent city in the daytime, but now that it was dark, he was not so certain. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t even been told which one was Mousesack’s.

Jaskier made his way to the outer edge of the group and squinted. He couldn’t make out any details and wasn’t even sure if he was looking at the entrance or the back of a tent. He sighed and stood in place for a moment, trying to weigh whether or not his heart could handle the awkwardness of potentially walking into the wrong tent.

Lost in his thoughts, he jumped when he suddenly heard a stick snap behind him. He whirled around to see an outline of a person standing there. 

“Who are you?” a gruff voice asked. 

“My name’s Jaskier,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as startled as he felt. “I’m-”

“What are you doing here?”

“If you had let me finish, I would have told you,” Jaskier huffed back. “Calanthe just hired me. Who are _you_?”

There was a pause. “Geralt.”

The name was somewhat familiar to him. “Well, Geralt, I don’t think we met earlier when I was making myself known to everyone else here. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Making yourself known?”

“Well, yes! Let’s see, I became rather friendly with Eist, and Mousesack and Triss-”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Alright.” Jaskier waited for Geralt to say something else, but he didn’t. He sighed. “Well, uh, Geralt. Can you point in the direction of Mousesack’s tent?”

“Why are you going there?” 

“To go to bed.”

“With Mousesack?” 

“I suppose.” Jaskier frowned. He couldn’t see very well in the dark, but it felt like Geralt was scrutinizing him. He didn’t understand the man’s question -- what did it matter who he shared a tent with? Jaskier huffed. “I mean, what else would you have me do?”

“Hmm.” Geralt was quiet for a minute. “What did Calanthe hire you to do around here?” 

“Well, I’m an entertainer -” Jaskier started before he could get a ‘but’ out.

“What type of _entertainer_?” 

Geralt said the word like he meant something else.

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier responded nonplussed, suddenly excited to talk about his craft. “I show people a good time. I’m very skilled at what I do.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said with pride, and then the gears in his head started turning. “...in fact, I could give you a small preview of my skill, if you would like.” 

Jaskier’s hands itched to grab his lute, but he wanted to wait until Geralt gave his approval. Usually he wouldn’t care and just start strumming, but for once he wanted to see if his audience was willing. 

“...can you now?” Geralt asked, and it must have been Jaskier’s imagination, _huskily_. “What about Mousesack?”

“Eh, he can wait.” Jaskier couldn’t believe his luck. “Shall I begin then?”

“Not here.” Geralt took a few steps closer to him. “Come to my tent. Don’t want anyone to hear.”

His gruff voice took on a gentler, almost husky tone.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, though secretly he didn’t give a fuck about who heard his beautiful music. In fact, they should be _grateful_. But Geralt then held out his hand for Jaskier to take, which he did without hesitation. A willing audience, a man with an attractive voice, and both of them alone in a tent? 

It did sound quite _nice_ to Jaskier. 

When Jaskier touched Geralt's hand, it was almost as if the other man had not been expecting it. His hand tensed up as Jaskier slid his fingers in between his, and he seemed to be holding his breath. Jaskier thought to say something about it but chose not to when he felt Geralt gently clasp his fingers around his hand. He had _large_ hands. 

“...so you don’t get lost,” Geralt mumbled. “I saw you stumbling around.”

And so Jaskier let Geralt lead him back to his tent. The walk wasn’t far, as Geralt’s tent seemed to be one of the ones already around the edge of the circle. Geralt went in first, and then held up the entrance flap for Jaskier to walk under.

When he entered, he saw a rustic and rather sparse looking interior. There were some black shirts and underclothes scattered around the floor, and a bed roll in the middle. The small tent was illuminated by three large candles that were floating in wooden bowls of water on the ground, so as to not cause a fire if tipped. The dim lighting finally allowed for Jaskier to see Geralt’s face. 

He was a man around ten years older than Jaskier. He had a worn face, with a few scars and some stubble. His hair was long and white and ran down his back. He was white and very pale-skinned, which contrasted the dark clothing he wore. His face was a nice and defined shape, with a strong jaw and nose. His eyes were a deep gold, surprisingly, though Jaskier had seen stranger things in his time. 

“Wow,” Jaskier whispered to himself, and then hoped that Geralt didn’t hear. 

In turn, he could tell Geralt was finally getting a good look at him -- his tousled brown hair, his youthful face, and his bright, colorful clothes. He was then starting into Jaskier’s eyes, gold meeting a baby blue. Jaskier felt himself blush and he looked away. 

Geralt seemed almost amused. “Hmm.”

“Well, ah,” Jaskier said, still flustered from that moment of intimacy, “shall we get started?”

“One moment,” Geralt murmured, still staring at Jaskier. 

Jaskier met his gaze, and almost felt like running. Those piercing gold eyes were doing wonders on him and had the potential to send blood rushing to more than just his face. 

Geralt then placed a gentle hand on the side of Jaskier’s face, and the bard’s eyes went wide. Before he knew what was happening, the other man was kissing him. 

Jaskier’s breath hitched, and his eyes slowly slipped closed. Geralt’s kiss was chaste and light, as if he was afraid of breaking Jaskier. Jaskier pressed a little against Geralt’s lips, and he could have sworn the other man growled a little in the back of his throat. Was he really that excited over a small kiss?

Jaskier thought about swiping his tongue out against Geralt’s bottom lip when suddenly the other man pulled away. Jaskier opened his eyes and stared up at Geralt, whose face was unreadable, but his eyes were soft. 

“Wha….” Jaskier began as he came to his senses. “Uh, not that that wasn’t nice...but what was that?”

Geralt’s face immediately hardened. The softness in eyes was gone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, typically I make a man buy me dinner before I let him kiss me,” Jaskier said with a laugh, but when he saw that Geralt was confused he elaborated. “I mean, it was just unexpected, is all. I didn’t think you were going to kiss me.”

Geralt frowned. “You’re an entertainer.”

“I mean, _yes_.” Jaskier whipped the lute off his back as proof and waved it. “An entertainer. A bard.”

Geralt stared at him for a minute more and then groaned. “Oh, gods.” He was shaking his head and took a deep breath. He took a few steps back from Jaskier, and turned away. “Oh, _gods_.”

“Did -- did I do something offensive?” Jaskier asked.

“No.” Geralt still wasn’t looking at him. “I thought when you said you were an entertainer that you meant that you were a whore.”

It took Jaskier a minute to register what had been said. “ _What_?”

“That would explain the lute,” Geralt mumbled. 

“How -” Jaskier started, trying to and failing at not letting his voice go up several octaves, “-did you think I was a _whore_?”

“Misunderstanding,” Geralt mumbled again, face hard. Jaskier took that as his embarrassed expression. “I mistook your words. And you smell nice.”

“What?” Jaskier sputtered. “How does that - ?!”

“Like I said. Misunderstood your words.” Geralt was fully facing away from him now, back hunched like a wounded animal. “You can leave.”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, incredulously. “I mean, I would,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But, _how_? I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

Geralt sighed and turned around. “I said I misunderstood your words.” His voice was low and filled with venom. It sounded as if he wanted to murder Jaskier. “What part of that do you not understand?”

“What words of mine could you warp so into that misunderstanding?”

Geralt narrowed his golden eyes. He was now close to Jaskier -- not next to his face, but close enough that he could see the slight bit of color that rose in his pale cheeks. “Making yourself known. Show people a good time. _Entertainer_.”

Jaskier started, wide-eyed at him in silence, and then spoke. “I, er, still don’t understand.”

Geralt growled and turned away again. He sat on the bedroll away from Jaskier. “ _Leave_.”

Jaskier stared for a moment more, then huffed. He sat down on the floor of the tent. “ _No_.”

Geralt turned to look at him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. “Get out of my tent.”

“No.” Jaskier pulled his lute around and started tuning it at random. “Sorry, but inspiration struck. I have a _fantastic_ idea for a new song about a fellow who’s soft in the head and he takes an innocent bard’s words as sexual innuendos.”

Geralt growled. “Don’t make me move you.”

Jaskier smirked and gave his lute a strum. “What’s that, Geralt, dear? I can’t hear you over all this music.”

Geralt got up and stood over Jaskier. “I will count to three. By the end, you should be out of my tent.” He held up three fingers. “One -- two -- _fuck_!”

Geralt flinched ever so slightly as Jaskier nimbly jumped to his feet, lute still in one hand. Jaskier could see that Geralt was now sizing him up, trying to anticipate what he was going to do next. 

“I will do as you say, sweet Geralt.” Jaskier flung his lute across his back and made a small bow. “And I will be seeing you tomorrow.”

Geralt growled, low in his throat. 

Jaskier turned to leave, but then turned his head back slightly - dramatic and intentionally. “Also, I must say. If I was a whore, you bet your ass you would definitely not be able to afford me.” Jaskier batted his eyes. “I’m a luxury few can afford.”

And with that, Jaskier left Geralt’s tent. 

He ended up stumbling around for a bit afterwards, trying to find Mousesack’s tent. Luckily enough the man was out taking a piss and happily directed him back to it. Once inside, Jaskier gratefully accepted a blanket from him, and made himself comfortable on the ground. Mousesack’s tent was also very sparse but held items that were most likely supplies for taking care of the company. There were also no candles lit. 

As the two men said their goodnights, Jaskier tried to get comfortable on his spot on the ground. There was no extra bedroll, so he supposed he’d better get used to it for a while. He wiggled and shifted all around until he found a position that felt almost comfortable. As he did so, the conversation with Geralt drifted back into his thoughts. 

_Whore_ , his ass. There was nothing wrong with being a person who worked in the pleasurable arts, of course - it was just that he wasn’t currently one of those people. That then raised a question in his mind - did the Lioness regularly hire sex workers for their services for her company? Or was Geralt truly out of his mind?

He supposed he would find out in the coming weeks. 

As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were at first about the love ballad he had been composing earlier that day when Ciri had found him - but then it shifted as he started to fall asleep. Soon enough, thoughts of piercing yellow eyes and long white hair filled his head, which both annoyed him and led to some very _entertaining_ dreams.

* * *

The next morning, Jaskier was shaken awake by Mousesack. Squinting in the dim light, he guessed it was right before sunrise. His first instinct was to complain about being woken up so early - but he swallowed his words when he saw that the older man had already left him. Efficient. He sighed and got up; no doubt Mousesack would be back if fell back asleep.

His back was sore from sleeping on the ground. He stretched as he walked out of the tent and cracked it. Still didn’t feel better. 

Mousesack was a distance away from all the tents, by the empty fire pit Jaskier and Ciri had found him by the night before. He handed Jaskier a small metal box and told him to start the fire while he gathered water from a nearby stream. Jaskier readily agreed, but then found himself utterly bewildered when he opened the box. 

It was not the traditional tinder box he had used before at least once or twice, which had used firestarters. It simply contained a rock, and that was it. 

Jaskier scrunched his nose, and picked it up. It was rather unremarkable. Gray, jagged angles, and it fit in the palm of his hand. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Jaskier jumped when he heard a voice from behind him. Turning his head, he saw that it was Geralt. He huffed and stood up straight, whirling around to see him. 

In the morning light, he could see more details on the man. He had far more light scars on his face than Jaskier originally anticipated, and deep circles under his eyes. 

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Why do you ask?”

Geralt blinked, but otherwise his face was stoic and unmoving. “Merely curious.” He pointed to Jaskier’s hand. “Why the rock?”

Jaskier held it up and considered it. “I honestly don’t know.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Are you always this much of an idiot?” 

“At least I don’t go around assuming people are whores,” Jaskier said coolly. 

Geralt’s face was blank and he gave a small “hmmm”. He then promptly stalked past Jaskier, over to the fire pit. He held his hand out over it, did a few things with his fingers, and suddenly a blast of fire shot out from his hand. 

“What?!” Jaskier cried as he dropped his rock. 

Geralt turned, expression still blank but one eyebrow raised. “I want breakfast. You were trying to start the morning fire to make us breakfast, correct?”

“That’s correct.” Jaskier clutched his heart. “Just, er, you’re a mage?”

Geralt snorted. “No.”

“A wizard? A sorcerer?”

“He’s a Witcher,” Mousesack called from behind him, a bucket of water sloshing in his grasp. “They can do small bits of magic through hand signs.” 

Mousesack carefully came forward, and placed the bucket of water down on the ground. He spotted something next to Jaskier’s feet, and picked up the rock he had dropped. He shot Jaskier a puzzled look. “Please be more careful with the flint next time, it’s not very often we come across it in the forest and it’s far too overpriced in towns.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Jaskier said, eyes still trained on Geralt. 

Geralt was looking at Mousesack. “If you would, I would appreciate my breakfast now before the others wake up.”

“Of course, of course.” Mousesack went over to the fire and started prepping some bowls he had nearby. “Jaskier, can you go get the oats out of our tent? I forgot to ask you to get them when I woke you up. Large bag, towards the back, can’t miss it.”

Jaskier did as he was asked. The bag had almost ripped when he picked it up, but thankfully stayed intact while he was carrying. When he returned to the fire, Geralt was gone. 

“I thought he wanted breakfast?” Jaskier asked, putting the bag down near the pot Mousesack was filling with water. 

“Aye, he does, but some people have started waking up and he doesn’t want to be around them if they come by. I told him you’d bring it to him later.” Mousesack picked up the bag and grabbed a handful of oats out. “I take it you’ve met him already?”

“You could say that,” Jaskier huffed.

Mousesack grinned as he hauled the pot over a spit on the fire. “First impression wasn’t that good, I take it? That’s Geralt for you. Off-putting fellow, though most judge him before knowing him because he’s - well, you know.”

Mousesack handed Jaskier a ladle. Jaskier stared at it for a second, then put it in the pot and stirred. 

“I don’t know, actually.” Jaskier focused on his pot. How many times was he supposed to stir?

Mousesack frowned, and took the ladle from him. He stopped the stirring. “You don’t know what Geralt is?”

“You did say he was a Witcher. Can’t say I know what that is, exactly”

Mousesack gave a single quick stir to the pot, which broke up some of the oats clumping together, and raised an eyebrow. “For a bard, you’re really not that well-traveled, are you? A Witcher is a mutant, forced to become certain ways as a result of both physical torture and magic.” Mousesack stirred the pot again, expression seeming stricken. “They used to be hired out as monster hunters, but since all monsters are extinct.... not much use for them as they are.”

“...Oh.” Jaskier fumbled for words. “Ah, well, yes? We call them _Hexers_ where I’m from, though I still don't know much about them. And I mean, monsters have been extinct for nearly a hundred years now, aside from the occasional satyr or unicorn cropping up. Makes sense.”

“I suppose.”

Jaskier frowned. “Wait, also.... why would a monster hunter be created if monsters are extinct?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Mousesack finally looked Jaskier in the eye. His expression denoted that his mind was far away, thinking of something else, crossed with sympathy. “To my knowledge, Geralt and the ones from his place of origin are the last Witchers to be made. Soon they’ll be nothing more but legends.”

“Wow,” Jaskier said quietly. “No wonder he’s so grumpy.”

Mousesack stared at him for a moment, as if deciding whether he was serious not, then gave a short laugh. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” He sobered up quickly and made his voice hushed. “I ask that you don’t talk to Geralt about this nor mention it. It’s a sore topic for him.”

“Of course.” 

Mousesack stopped stirring the porridge and picked up two bowls by the base of the fire pit, one by one. He ladled some porridge into each, and handed them to Jaskier. 

“He went off into the forest. Follow the scent of onion and you'll find him,” Mousesack said, pointing at a specific spot in the treeline. “Or, more specifically, follow the path he made in the brush. We’ve been here a few days and I know Geralt likes to practice his swordplay at a specific clearing in the woods.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier said as he balanced the bowls in his hands and began walking off. 

“Be nice!” Mousesack yelled behind him, to which he rolled his eyes. 

It was a short walk to the woods, and soon enough he was under the trees and his feet were snapping twigs. He looked around, squinting to see if the buff man was anywhere nearby. He could see what Mousesack had meant by following the trail as well - there was a well defined path through the forest where someone had obviously spent time trimming down the surrounding bushes and had repeatedly tread over the same area. 

“Geralt?” he called out. “It’s Jaskier. I have your breakfast.”

No answer.

He huffed and walked further into the woods on the trail. 

“Geralt?” he called again. 

This time he heard some grunting from up ahead. He walked forward, and now found his path blocked by tall bushes. He pushed them aside. 

There was a small clearing behind them, still covered by trees so the sunlight couldn’t get through, but the ground was clear from most plants and knotted roots. In the center of the clearing was Geralt, bare-chested and moving around. He had a sword in his hand, and was obviously doing some sort of formation exercises with it. 

Jaskier watched as Geralt found invisible enemies, noting that his footwork and arm movements were impeccable. He had seen his fair amount of sword-play in his life and had even been forced to take several lessons of it. He _had_ proven to be terrible at it, but had retained enough knowledge to evaluate someone else's craft. 

Geralt was clearly an expert. 

Jaskier's stomach then growled. Loudly and _painfully_. He was suddenly aware of how his only meal the previous day had been the bowl of stew. He eyed his bowl of porridge, and then looked back over at the Witcher and his sword. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, stepping into the clearing. 

Geralt whirled around, sword pointing in Jaskier’s direction. He looked prepared to lunge. Jaskier stopped in his tracks and held up the bowls. 

“I, er, have breakfast for you?”

Geralt lowered his sword, and then stabbed it into the ground so it stood. He approached Jaskier slowly, as if he were about to pounce. Jaskier held out the bowl, with the spoon in it. 

“Made with love,” he said as Geralt took the bowl from him. 

“Hmm.”

Geralt turned away from Jaskier and walked back towards the center of the clearing. He sat on the ground and began eating. 

Jaskier watched him for a moment, and then found a nearby tree at the edge of the clearing. He leaned against it and took a bite. 

He hadn’t even swallowed before Geralt turned his head around and stared at him. 

“What?” Jaskier asked, shoveling another bite in his mouth. 

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah.”

Geralt kept staring at Jaskier as he continued eating. Jaskier pretended not to notice at first, but then found himself staring back. 

“What?” he asked again. 

“Leave.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “No?” 

Geralt glared. 

Jaskier sighed, shoveled another spoonful of porridge in his mouth and pushed himself off his tree. He stalked over to Geralt, bowl in hand, and sat crossed legged directly in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier ate another spoonful. His bowl was already a quarter done, and he wanted more. He placed it down for a moment 

“I feel as though we got off on the wrong foot.” Jaskier stuck out his hand. “Hello, my name is Jaskier. I’m a bard, but I am now working for your company as a laborer. I am in no way a prostitute.” 

Geralt stared at his hand with icy indifference. 

“Alright,” Jaskier said, taking his hand back. “In other news, please eat your porridge before it gets cold. Or before I eat it.”

Begrudgingly, Geralt picked up his bowl and began eating. He purposefully did not look at Jaskier the entire time. 

Jaskier finished up his meal and waited for Geralt to finish. When he saw that the Witcher was done, he stood up. “Are you heading back to camp as well?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll be there.”

“Ooh, my heart.” Jaskier clutched his chest. “How will I ever recover? Heart broken by Geralt yet again.” When Geralt didn’t respond, he huffed. “You know, you were much nicer last night when you thought we were going to have sex. Feels very objectifying, if I do say so.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. “I wouldn’t have sex with you now that I know how annoying you are.”

Jaskier gaped at him for a moment, before huffed indignantly. “That was rude! Take a nap and maybe you won’t be so crotchety.”

Jaskier stalked off to the edge of the clearing, but then remembered he needed Geralt’s bowl. 

“Hey, can I have-”

“Just go away.” Geralt didn’t yell, but his voice was angry. “For the love of the gods, I just want some _peace_.”

Jaskier stared at his back, as he was now refusing to turn around. 

“I just want your bowl so I can wash it back at camp.”

Geralt suddenly stood. His shoulders were hunched as he stalked over to Jaskier. His face was hard, warped in a similar expression that he had worn the night before. “Here,” he said, shoving the bowl into Jaskier’s hands. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt didn’t answer. He turned again and walked off towards his sword. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes and headed back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! 
> 
> updates on fridays!


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days blurred together for Jaskier. If it wasn’t for his time-reliant schedule and Mousesack, he would have lost all sense of what he was doing and where he was. He had never really thought about how much of one’s day went into preparing food, and how often this task had to be done. He was astonished that Mousesack had been doing this since he was a young man - the monotony of it was driving him near mad. 

The food preparation was the least of his worries, despite this. Every few days, he had to take down the tent he shared with Mousesack, and then assist everyone else in doing so with theirs. He then had to load all the supplies in a pack, then carry said supplies on his back. It was grueling and strenuous though he did feel a bit physically stronger after a few rounds of it. 

It was rough work, and for the first couple of weeks he had gone straight to bed as soon as Mousesack allowed him to. His muscles had ached, his bones had ached, and even his soul had ached a bit. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to play his lute or write any music during this time, and that was somewhat wearing on his mind. Though, he reasoned with himself, one must suffer for their art - they just never specified how. 

The company moved every few days due to them being a “traveling circus”, as the Queen put it, whatever that meant. They were heading towards the nearest city to perform, and to hopefully earn a fair bit of coin. 

So far, their days had been filled with just mostly moving and walking. They would go for miles at a time, only stopping for food and the occasional piss-break. They would pass through small villages and towns every now and then, though they would only stay long enough to buy some supplies - something about traveling with a Witcher, Ciri had told him, made them susceptible to scrutiny.

It was about after three weeks of traveling with the group that Jaskier finally built up some stamina and could socialize with the rest of the group around the campfire, before they all went to bed. That night, happened to be him, Mousesack, Triss, Dara, and Ciri. 

“-And that’s when I said,” Triss exclaimed with a wave of her hand as she told a raunchy story from her youth, “if you think you don’t like me when I’m angry, you should see me and your wife when we’re-”

“There are children present!” Mousesack interrupted. 

Triss rolled her eyes, then grinned at Dara and Ciri. “You’ve heard worse, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Dara said, a bit stiffly. Jaskier still wasn’t sure what he did around camp, but Ciri seemed to be fond of him. 

“You were going to say ‘fuck’ weren’t you?” Ciri asked, eyes gleaming mischievously. This glimmer suddenly dulled and turned to slight worry. “Don’t tell Grandmother I said that.”

“Of course not.” Triss winked. 

“Jaskier!” Ciri suddenly said. 

Jaskier blinked, slowly. He had been somewhat falling asleep. However, when his mind had registered that the young girl had said his name, he slowly grinned. “Yes, Ciri?”

“Can you play us a song?” Her eyes were wide and excited. “It’s been so long since any of us have heard proper music.”

“I would be honored to,” Jaskier said, now suddenly feeling awake. He swung his lute from around his back and held it carefully. He had been somewhat hoping for something like this to happen, though hadn’t been sure if he had the energy. Ciri’s bright eyes and excitement proved to be energy enough. He strummed a few cords and tuned it a bit. “Any requests?”

“Hmm…” Mousesack said, stroking his beard. “What about ‘Fishmonger's Daughter’?”

Triss narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were concerned about the children being here?”

Mousesack waved a hand. “They won’t understand it. All the innuendos.”

“I know what a ‘fishmonger's daughter’ means,” Dara said quietly, almost offended.

His comment went ignore, except for Ciri nudging him slightly as if to say “shh!”

Jaskier grinned at the group and began to strum. “Now that is certainly something I can do.”

The chords fell into place and his fingers began plucking the familiar folk tune. 

“ _O’ fishmonger, o’ fishmonger, come quell your daughter’s hunger…._ ” 

He sang the lyrics loud and proud, as if he hadn’t gone the past few weeks without practicing. He was half-tempted to close his eyes and get lost in the music, despite how it wasn’t the most romantic song. However, he kept his eyes open and watched his audience’s responses. 

Mousesack was lightly tapping his foot along, with an amused grin on his face. Triss was nodding lightly, though he could see her gaze scrutinizing his finger movements across the lute, as if she too knew how to play and was somewhat jealous that she wasn’t the one strumming. Dara and Ciri’s faces were an identical match of amazement and that particular mischievousness children experienced when they knew they were listening to something only adults usually got to listen to. 

Jaskier continued to sing, hitting each chorus with more enthusiasm each time. As the arc of the song approached, which would then lead to its somewhat sudden end, he strummed faster and sang louder. He didn’t care if he woke up the whole damn company - this was the most fun he had had in ages.

_This_ was the reason he became a bard. 

The song winded down, and he let the lyrics end as well as his strumming. There was a moment of silence before his small crowd burst into applause. 

“Not half bad!” Triss said.

“Just like they used to play when I worked in the courts,” Mousesack added. 

Dara smiled. “That was...really good. Really, really good.”

Ciri’s eyes sparkled. “Play something else now, Jaskier! That was amazing!”

Jaskier grinned and was about to start playing another tune on his lute, when Mousesack put his hand out in front of him.

“Not so fast, that’ll have to be it for tonight,” the older man said. “Eist has most likely left your grandmother’s tent by now and she’ll have all of us by our ears if you don’t return to her before bedtime, Ciri.”

“We still can listen to one more song,” Dara protested. “Even if Ciri is going to bed.”

“Just because you’re a year or two older, doesn’t mean you get to stay up late either,” Mousesack said. The tone in his voice made Jaskier think of a strict yet parental governess he once had. “We all should be getting to bed. We have to be up early.”

“I can always play more tomorrow night,” Jaskier said. “I promise.”

The two children narrowed their eyes and made him swear up and down that he would, and that under no intents or circumstances would he back out. He had to pinky-swear, pledge on his life, and even name his future first born to them if he didn’t follow through before Ciri and Dara went off to their respective tents. In the meantime, Mousesack stamped out the remainder of the scant fire and Triss headed back to her tent. 

“That was some fine playing there,” Mousesack told Jaskier as he gathered up some random cooking supplies they had left by the fire during the day. “Are you sure Calanthe only hired you as a laborer? If she had heard you play, she should have at least hired you as a part-time performer.”

“Well, I suppose I’m a laborer, but I’m also apparently supposed to ‘help with’ Geralt, whatever that means.” Jaskier flung his lute over his back and took some supplies off of Mousesack’s hands. “I think that somewhat counts as a part-time performer? Though I’m not entirely sure what I’d be doing. Maybe help him insult the crowd, since that seems to be the only thing he’s good for.”

Mousesack rolled his eyes as they started walking back to the tent. “You’re still on about that?”

“Yes! He was rude to me!”

“You have the feelings of a fragile lord; did you know that?”

Jaskier huffed but didn’t argue further. They reached their tent and placed all their supplies inside. Jaskier sat in his usual spot on the ground and took off his lute. He placed it next to the doublet he had been wearing the first day he arrived at camp -- he hadn’t wanted nor needed it since then. He would have been dead embarrassed to wear nothing but his undershirt a mere few weeks ago, but now it felt as normal as wearing the doublet once did. He had been planning on buying a regular shirt or even a tunic – but, well, Calanthe hadn’t paid him yet and the coin he already had was running out.

Jaskier took off his boots as Mousesack hunkered down on the other side of the mostly empty tent. He then laid down and got comfortable, pulling the blanket over him just right and shimmying until his back found a comfortable position. He took a relaxing breath in, and let it out. 

His eyes then flew wide open. 

He had to piss. 

Jaskier waited a full minute to see if he could hold it until morning. This was a stupid thought process, but he found it worth trying anyways. He found he was wrong, and threw off his blanket. Not bothering to put his boots on, he silently cursed his bladder as he exited the tent. 

From his few weeks of camping, he had learned that pissing anywhere near the tents was not only frowned upon but actively discouraged against. In his bare feet, he hiked a fair distance away from the tents and prayed that he didn’t step on anything sharp on the forest floor. They had camped out in the woods tonight, since it was closer to a river. Once he found a decent spot, he unlaced his trousers and went about his business. 

As he was finishing up, he heard something rustle from the bushes in front of him. They weren’t the ones directly in front of him, but were a close enough distance away to make him jump a little. Taking a few steps back, and forgetting to put his cock away, he watched in horror as a giant, human-shaped thing stepped out of the woods. It was hunched over, with a large mass of flesh on its back. It stood over six feet tall, and it was nearly twice as wide as Jaskier. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. 

The creature turned towards him and let out a snort. It was a dark night, with only slivers of moonlight peeking out through a shroud of clouds and coverage of trees. He could hardly see two inches in front of his nose, not to mention the full yard that was between him and this creature. He tried to take another step back, but found himself stumbling and falling backwards. 

And _that_ was when he realized his cock was still out. 

He quickly tried to put his cock away and lace up his trousers, all while watching this creature in front of him. It didn’t move. It didn’t make a sound. Maybe if he slowly got up and moved away, it would leave him alone? And then what? Hide under his covers and hoped it went away?

Then suddenly, he heard, “Jaskier?”

The creature was Geralt. 

“Oh thank god,” Jaskier mumbled, and suddenly stood up. “It’s only you! You prick! Why do you look like that? You scared me half to death!”

“Look like what?” Geralt asked. The fleshy-mass - or what Jaskier had thought was a fleshy-mass - suddenly shifted and was pulled off his back. He now looked more proportioned to the size of a regular man, though he was still tall. “I was hunting for deer. Where do you think we get our meat?”

Porridge was a majority of what they ate in the morning simply because it was nonperishable and cheap, though they occasionally ate meat when they had leftovers from other meals. Lunch was usually either more porridge or some cold meat and bread if they could afford it. Dinner was almost always a stew from the same meat and any wild vegetables they could find. Meat was a pretty integral part of the company’s diet and he had been preparing it for them for weeks, but otherwise Jaskier had actually never wondered about its origin before. 

“Ah,” Jaskier said. “Well, er, sorry then.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier was about to turn to leave, but stood in place. A question popped in his head. “Hey, how can you hunt in the dark?”

“I don’t care enough to tell you.”

“What, is it like some super-secret Witcher power?”

“Hm.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take that as a ye -- What a minute, did you see me while I was pissing then? _Did you see my cock_?”

“...Hm.”

Jaskier covered his face with his hands. “Ugh, that’s embarrassing. You saw me piss and you saw my cock.” He then uncovered his face. “Wait, _again…_. that means you saw where I was and walked over to me on purpose!”

Geralt didn’t even offer him a “Hm” this time. The Witcher just stood in place, presumably staring. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, and then snapped it shut. He then opened it again. “You...you prick! Ugh, I hate you.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier started to storm off, with the full intent of going back to his tent, angrily falling asleep, and then refusing to talk to Geralt the next morning. 

Instead, he stopped when Geralt said, “I heard you playing music earlier.”

Jaskier turned on the heel and stared in his direction.

“You really are a bard.”

Jaskier scoffed, and then laughed. “Yes, I really am a bard.” He bit his lip, and then burst out with, “So, what did you think?”

“Of what?”

“My singing, my playing.” Jaskier resisted the urge to be poetic for a full half second before he added, “my _passions_ , my reason for living.”

“Hm,” Geralt responded. “It’s like...ordering a pie.”

“Yes, and?”

“And finding it has no filling.”

Jaskier was silent for a full five seconds. “What?!” 

Geralt didn’t say anything. 

Jaskier continued. “Do you need a nap or something? Or to have a good fuck? Maybe crank one out on your own and then take a nap? Why are you so fucking grumpy?!” He put his hands on his hips and glared (hopefully, again, in Geralt’s direction, as he still could hardly see in the dark). “Or maybe you need to clean out your ears! You obviously can’t hear right either!”

“Hm.”

“Is that all you have to say? Unbelievable.” Jaskier huffed and, again, had the full intention of turning around and going to his tent. But this time, his own thoughts stopped him. “Actually…how would you even know what my music is like? You were never even by the fire. You obviously just weren’t close enough to hear it right!”

“Is that a fact, bard?”

“I know it is! Wait here.”

Jaskier stumbled quickly back to his tent, and quietly snuck in. Mousesack had apparently fallen asleep quickly and was snoring slightly, as Jaskier grabbed his lute and ran back out. He left his boots, again. 

Thankfully some more clouds had receded from their coverage of the moon, allowing more light to appear through the leaves in the trees. Jaskier tried to find the spot where Geralt was again, and found himself fumbling with his steps and squinting more than he cared to admit. He finally found where the Witcher was, and saw that he was now sitting on the ground, next to his deer. Jaskier sat down across from him and began tuning his lute. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, his voice flat yet vaguely annoyed as ever. 

“I am going to play you a song,” Jaskier said. “You are going to listen to it, and enjoy it. You didn’t properly hear me play earlier. You couldn’t have.”

“I don’t want to listen to you play your music,” Geralt said. 

“Then why are you still here?”

“...Hm.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, grinning a bit. He strummed a few times to warm up, and then paused. “I think I’ll treat you tonight. Even though you’ve been an utter and absolute ass to me.”

He waited for a response and got none. He continued. 

"This is a song that I’ve been working on for a while now. No one else has heard it yet. I’m playing it tonight because you need to hear my best, original work. And then you can see the error of your ways.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take that as the ‘go ahead’,” Jaskier said, as he started a soft tune. He sang:

“ _A storm breaking on the horizon,_

_Of longing and heartache and lust….”_

He played for a few minutes, singing softly and making his music match. This time he let his eyes slip close - no use watching Geralt’s face anyways, since he was stoic as a brick wall, and it was still too dark out. 

“ _You’re always bad news,_

_It’s always lose-lose_

_So, tell me love, tell me love,_

_How is that just?_ ”

He sang for a while longer with his eyes closed, letting the music wash over him. It had been a while since he had performed this song, but it still was hitting him hard. He could almost cry. But he didn’t.

“ _But the story is this,_

_You’ll destroy with your sweet kiss_

_Your sweet kiss,_

_O-oh_.”

He continued on to the next verse, and then repeated the chorus a few times. The melody of the song was sweet and low, though tinged somewhat with an overlying angst -- his exact emotions at the time of writing it. 

“ _Your sweet kiss,_

_O-oh_.

_Your sweet ki-iss._ ”

He let the song dwindle down. As he was on the last verse, he strummed softly for about half a minute more, and then stopped. Again, there was a silence after his performance. This time, however, his audience did not break into applause. 

“Well?” he asked. 

Geralt didn’t respond for a few seconds, and then said, “Why did you write that song?”

The question took Jaskier somewhat by surprise. “Oh, uh -- you know. Just random inspiration, I suppose. Nothing personal or deep. Just a pretty song.”

“Hm.” Geralt took a deep breath. “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You’re lying.”

“I - I am _not_ lying. You are lying! You’re lying about me lying and-” Jaskier stopped himself and sighed. “Yeah, I was lying.”

Geralt suddenly stood up, and hauled his deer back onto his shoulders with one fluid swoop. “I’m going to bed.”

The Witcher began walking away. 

"Geralt? Geralt!” Jaskier adjusted his lute in his grip so as to not drop it, and stood up as well. “Wait! How was my singing! Just answer the question!”

He caught up to Geralt and fell in stride beside him. 

The Witcher didn’t say anything. Jaskier stared up at him. Some more clouds had shifted and they passed under a moonbeam. In the dim light, Jaskier was able to Geralt’s profile -- his defined, large nose, his strong chin, his white hair, his-

“Geralt, you’re bleeding.”

The Witcher stopped walking. The clouds had moved again and while Jaskier still couldn’t see, he swore that he had caught a glimpse of blood caked into Geralt’s temple. 

“It was an accident,” Geralt mumbled. “The deer wouldn’t go down without a fight, obviously.”

“What do you mean -- are you telling me you killed the deer with your bare hands?”

“Do you see any weapons on me?”

Jaskier stared at the man next to him for a minute, both horrified and in awe. “What else have you fought?”

In the dim light, he watched as Geralt stopped in his tracks and his head snapped around to stare at him. He could hear the glare in his voice. “What?”

“What else have you fought? You have to tell me more stories. Do you only fight deer? Or other animals? Any monsters we thought were extinct? Geralt, that’s truly amazing.”

Geralt was silent. 

“I could write a song about you! ‘Geralt the Witcher Who Fights Deer But Still Has Poor Taste in Music’. I’d make you famous, I would.” 

Geralt remained silent, and then started walking again.

Jaskier followed. “In other news, are you going to need help with your bleeding head?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come and help you anyways.”

“...Hm.”

* * *

The company was apparently about to reach their destination in about a month -he had apparently joined them right after they left their previous haunt. Jaskier had been informed of this the first thing in the morning as Mousesack woke him up, still barely coherent. Once it had registered though, he gave a simple “alright” and got up to start his chores. 

Jaskier still wasn’t entirely sure what everyone’s performances were. Dara did something along the lines of juggling, Triss read fortunes on little cards, and Eist apparently did tricks with swords and the like. As for everyone else’s occupations, besides himself and Mousesack, he was still at a loss. 

Geralt was by the fire site that morning, seeming to be waiting as Jaskier walked up with a bucket of water he had gotten from the nearby stream. Mousesack had been skinning the deer Geralt had killed the night before a bit away from the camp, and they would be cooking it as soon as he was done. 

“Hello,” Jaskier said, almost absentmindedly. “Wanting your breakfast before everyone else again?”

“Hm.”

“I can make you some oats, though that might take a short while. The meat’s coming later.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier put his bucket down and got to work. He pulled Mousesacks tinder box from his trouser pocket, took the flint, and struck several times with a knife he’d been given by Eist. The sparks landed on the wood and tinder he had assembled earlier, and he blew on it. After it was lit, he went about setting up a spit. 

“Hand me that empty bucket by your feet?” he asked Geralt as he worked.

Geralt did as he was asked and remained silent.

Jaskier took his first bucket, the one filled with water, and poured a decent amount into the second one. He placed it on the spit, then grabbed the bag of oats that was leaning on the outer rim of the fire’s stone circle. 

“How much do you want?” he asked.

“I’m not that hungry.”

“Hm,” Jaskier said, eyeing Geralt up and down. “Alright.”

He dumped more oats in the bucket than was probably necessary. 

The pair waited in silence as they waited for the water to boil. Jaskier had mastered the art of stirring food at this point - he figured out that one apparently was not supposed to stir it consistently but rather just when it looked like it needed it. He was genuinely surprised how many basic life tasks he didn’t know and that he was picking up on them so fast. 

After a few minutes, the oats looked about done so he asked Geralt to pass him a bowl. He complied, and soon enough Jaskier returned it to him, full of bland mush. He had expected Geralt to leave at that point - to find a spot in the woods to eat and brood in, and then go play with his sword. Instead, the Witcher continued sitting there, pulled a spoon out of the dishware bag, and began eating. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to comment, but then shut it. It wasn’t his business, plus he had other work he could be doing. 

Jaskier stoked the fire and made a bit more porridge for anyone who might want it. (Dara apparently loathed eating meat.) He considered grabbing a bowl for himself, but thought better when he considered that he truly preferred venison to the bland mush. 

Geralt continued sitting in silence, and quickly finished his oats. He passed Jaskier his bowl and spoon wordlessly and continued sitting on his spot on the ground. 

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and stared at him, but still said nothing for the moment. He looked at the empty bowl now in his hands, and filled it back up. He handed it to Geralt. 

Geralt now raised an eyebrow at him, but took it. He picked up his spoon and began eating again. 

Somewhat satisfied at that response, Jaskier tried to focus on keeping the oats warm while not drying them out. He had already done that to several batches and while everyone had been nice about it (except Calanthe), he didn’t want to disappoint them again. 

Geralt again handed him his bowl and spoon after he finished his second bowl. Jaskier took it and placed it close to the fire, so he would remember to wash it later. He and the Witcher then sat there in silence, Jaskier working and Geralt doing nothing. 

But the silence got too much for Jaskier to bear. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as he was feeling. 

“Hm,” Geralt responded. “It’s going to rain later.”

Jaskier looked up at the sky, and saw that dark clouds were gathering at the edge of the horizon. “I suppose it is.” He waited a beat. “Are you going to go practice with your sword before that? Don’t want it getting rusty.”

“No,” Geralt said.

“Huh,” Jaskier said. “Uh...do you want any more porridge or anything?”

"No,” Geralt said again, and then after a pause he gave a stern, “thank you.”

“Alright.” Jaskier suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, or what to say. 

Very few people had ever gotten him in a state like this, and even then it never lasted long. He kept stealing glances at the Witcher, though was too nervous to stare at him head on. 

“Good morning!” a voice called from far off. 

Jaskier turned his head and saw Eist walking up from where the nearby river was. His dark hair was wet and sticking to his forehead, and Jaskier guessed he had been bathing.

As he neared the campsite, Geralt suddenly stood up. He looked Jaskier in the eyes for a minute and nodded tensely. He then turned on the heel and started stalking away. 

Jaskier watched him go, half confused and half resigned that Geralt was just _like that_. Eist approached him with a similar type of confusion spread across his face. 

“Never seen Geralt run away so fast,” he said. He lifted up his arm and sniffed his armpit in an overly exaggerated way, as if mocking the actual idea of doing so. “I wonder if I missed a spot while cleaning up. Do I offend?”

He stuck his armpit out in Jaskier’s direction, to which he recoiled but laughed. 

“Maybe Witchers have a keener sense of smell than us?” Jaskier said with a wry smile, humoring him. 

“Ah! Who knows. Mysterious lot, those Witchers.” Eist sat on the ground near Jaskier and cocked his head to the side. “So, what’s for breakfast, head chef?”

“Oats, or venison if you’re willing to wait a bit longer.”

“Venison! My favorite game meat. I prefer it more than rat.”

“You’ve eaten rat?”

“Multiple times. Funny story actually-”

Jaskier chatted with Eist amiably as the rest of the company trickled in. Mousesack abled in finally with the cleaned deer carcass after everyone had arrived. He and Jaskier stuck it on a larger spit and began roasting it. Mousesack had some herbs and spices in his private cooking kit, which he allowed Ciri and Dara to rub on the meat. 

(“The children need to learn how to cook,” he had said, when Calanthe had arrived and asked why her granddaughter was doing his job.)

Jaskier secretly had been somewhat jealous of the kids, because he wanted to learn how to properly season meat. (Yet another life skill he had yet to learn.) He got over it quick enough though, and soon enough found himself distributing plates of venison strips with bowls of porridge on the side. 

After everyone was served, he and Mousesack took their share. Biting into it, Jaskier nearly moaned. He had eaten fine food all his life, but in the past few weeks he had found that nothing had tasted better than food one helped prepare (even if he had only made the fire this time). Plus, he had never eaten food that tasted this good before - did his father’s kitchen staff back home not know what seasoning was? Or was that just his father’s preference?

Jaskier shook the thought from his mind. That life was behind him now. And his new life was right in front of him, sitting around the fire and the friendships he had built. 

He felt pride swell in his chest at the thought. 

“Jaskier,” Ciri said off to his right. Eist and Calanthe were between them, and she was leaning around them. “I need to ask Geralt a question about his upcoming performance for when we hit the city, but I think he went off into the forest again. Would you mind coming with me when we’re done?”

“Of course,” Jaskier replied.

Just as they had trickled in, everyone soon trickled out after they had finished eating. Soon, the only ones remaining were Jaskier, Ciri, and Mousesack. The older man waved them off as Jaskier tried helping him with the dishes, claiming that it was no trouble to do it himself for the day. 

Ciri took Jaskier by the hand, and led him into the forest. This section was covered with brush, so the pair had to constantly push it out of their way. They were near the river as well, so the bugs were particularly nasty. At one point, Jaskier considered picking Ciri up and carrying her to prevent her skirt from getting stuck on more pricker bushes, but didn’t get the chance as she stopped short. 

“What’s up, Ciri?”

The young girl was scanning the bushes and trees. “Hm...any idea where Geralt could have run off to?”

“I know he likes to practice his sword fighting after breakfast, but he said he wasn’t-”

There was a rustling sound behind them, and both turned around. 

There stood Geralt, in all his glory…. _naked_. Luckily, the bushes on the forest floor were tall enough to cover his privates. 

Ciri squeaked and covered her eyes. Jaskier intended to do the same but…

Damn, it would be a lie to say that Geralt wasn’t attractive. 

The Witcher seemed nonplussed and strolled past them. He then bent down a short distance from them (and Jaskier most certainly did not stare at his ass as he did), and picked up his clothes which had apparently been hidden under a bush. 

Geralt dressed quickly and strolled back towards them. Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, but the Witcher seemingly ignored him. Instead, he squatted down slightly so that he was on eye-level with Ciri, and gently reached up and tugged her hands away from her eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled to her. “Didn’t realize you were here until too late. Was lost in my thoughts.”

Ciri pretended to glare at him for a full five seconds, before she grinned and suddenly launched a hug at the Witcher. Geralt caught her and picked her up, and spun her around. He smiled. 

Jaskier stared at Geralt, mouth almost dropping open in shock. He realized this was the first time he had seen Geralt smile.

Well, no, that wasn’t correct. A memory from his first night with the company arose in his mind. Had Geralt smiled at him then? Did he have the same softness in his eyes as he did now? Did his expression then make Jaskier’s heart beat as fast as it was beating now?

Geralt had a nice smile.

Geralt placed Ciri down and as soon as it came, his smile slid off his face and his expression turned stoic again. 

“I’ve missed you, Geralt,” Ciri said. “We haven’t had a proper talk in ages!”

“We can talk now,” Geralt said. 

“I would love to,” Ciri said, “but I still have to rehearse my performance with grandmother today. Maybe after this city? Speaking of which, grandmother wanted me to ask-”

The rest of the conversation went over Jaskier’s head. They were throwing around words like “manacles” and “restrains”. He knew what the words meant, but not within this context. Plus, well, he was still a little distracted by the previous state of the Witcher’s undress. 

“-right, Jaskier?” Ciri suddenly said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“What? Yes, totally.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “You’ll be assisting me?”

“I was hired to,” Jaskier said quickly. “How hard can it be?”

“Hm.”

Ciri nodded. “Mousesack used to do it but he’s gotten rather old for the job. It really is good luck that you joined us when you did.”

“Yeah, of course. Glad to be here.” Jaskier felt oddly put on the spot. Geralt was still staring at him oddly. 

“Will you walk back to camp with us?” Ciri asked the Witcher.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Excellent!” Ciri said. “Let’s go then. Do you have all your things?”

The three walked back to the encampment, and yet again Jaskier was slightly jealous that day as Ciri held Geralt’s hand on the way back and not his. She dropped it when she got back to camp though, and then ran off to find her grandmother. Then it was just Jaskier and Geralt. 

“So, uh,” Jaskier said. “Have a good bath?”

“Hm.”

“Hope you washed your clothes too. I found one’s garments get rather smelly after a few days out in the sun.”

“Hm.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you later?”

“Hm.”

“Alright. Uh, see you around, Geralt.”

Jaskier walked away, leaving the Witcher where he was standing. Besides, he had work he needed to be getting done as well. He saw the smoke from the fire rising a short distance away, and he was curious about how to make stew out of venison, like Mousesack had promised to show him. 

He didn’t notice, but Geralt watched him go until he was out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading, i love u
> 
> also ive been hella unsatisfied with the description so i changed it.....still a little unhappy so i might change it again lol


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier had gotten used to his little routine of making breakfast with Mousesack and then hunting down Geralt in whatever woods they happened to stop by that day, to give him his breakfast. Usually, he would sit with the Witcher in silence, enjoying the other man’s silent annoyance at his presence. Other times, he would simply give him his food and leave, wanting to have actual companionship on those mornings.

But it seemed that Geralt didn’t get the memo on this being the schedule. After that first morning of eating by the fire and sitting with him, Geralt started doing that  _ every _ morning.

The first few times, Jaskier had nearly panicked. What did the Witcher want? Was he just cold and wanted the warmth of the fire, despite how it was almost summer? Was he planning on stealing Jaskier’s job as co-chef? Did he suspect Jaskier was spitting in his food (which he had only done twice)?

After a full four days of this, however, Jaskier soon relaxed. Despite his grim demeanor, he could tell that Geralt meant no harm in sitting by the fire in the morning with him. Even his aura of irritation at Jaskier’s mere existence subsided a little – not that his behavior towards him changed much, but Jaskier could just  _ feel _ the difference somehow.

Also, not one to feel threatened by anyone, this then lead to Jaskier talking to Geralt. A lot. Nothing important or too revealing about his past – just about everyday observations he made, what songs he was currently composing in his head, what he enjoyed about life currently, what he didn’t, and so on.

Every morning, Jaskier babbled on and on to Geralt, not necessarily trying to fill the air or the silence but because he genuinely wanted to share – he was not a silent person, nor necessarily a private one despite all his secrets. For his part, the Witcher seemed disinterested – he never commented or spoke more than two words back. To an outsider, it would have looked like he wasn’t even paying attention.

But Jaskier saw how he listened. Geralt hardly met his eyes as he moved around the campfire and busied himself with the small chores, but when he did, there was a certain glimmer in his golden eyes that typically wasn’t there. It was an alertness, as if Geralt was taking in stock his surroundings and judging what his next action should be.

This also took Jaskier a few days to pick up on – but then it hit him. Geralt was a fighter. A hunter. He was used to being silent and focusing in wholly on his target. To give all off his attention to the subject but not betray any of his thoughts. He was using the same skills here in lieu of actual conversational abilities – taking everything in, responding only when necessary, and letting himself get immersed in what was in front of him.

Jaskier was touched, honestly. Not that he would ever tell Geralt that.

Geralt also showed with his actions that he was paying attention. Jaskier no longer had to ask him to hand him certain tools as he flit around and prepped breakfast – Geralt knew what Jaskier needed and would wordlessly hand it to him, before he could even ask. This wasn’t by instinct – Geralt was no cook nor a mind reader – but he obviously paid attention.

Mousesack was confused by the whole thing at first as well _._ From Jaskier’s understanding, the older man liked the Witcher well enough – but there did seem to be a communication barrier between them still. Mousesack began busying himself with other tasks in the morning, away from the fire, citing that Jaskier’s growth as a laborer now meant that he could be trusted with starting breakfast each day (though not necessarily seeing it all the way through).

This new routine soon became as cozy as the previous one had, and after a week or two, Jaskier didn’t even think twice about seeing Geralt sitting on the ground by the firepit in the morning. 

The one thing that didn’t change, however, was that Geralt would always hightail it out of the vicinity whenever someone besides Mousesack or Ciri would arrive around the fire. Anti-social as always, and none too polite about it either. These few minutes to an hour everyday were really the only time Jaskier got to see Geralt, and the rest of his time was either spent with Mousesack or the company as a whole.

And they would have him sing for them every night. First, it was only Ciri, Dara, and Mousesack that would watch regularly – but soon enough the entire group, save for their Witcher, would come out to watch him. Tonight –two weeks after Jaskier had given Geralt a private concert in the woods, under the moonlight – was also the first time Calanthe would come out to hear him play.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous. He had told Geralt that much that morning, all about how this might be his chance to also become a performer, how he would still be fine with his laborer job as long as he got to also sing, and how Calanthe had been  _ so mean _ to him when they first met.

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt had grunted at him. “Your music isn’t terrible.”

Jaskier grinned so widely at that, that he feared his face would split. Geralt had rolled his eyes when Jaskier pointed out how that was technically a compliment but didn’t say anything back.

“Wish me luck,” Jaskier had then said, with a wink. “Come encourage me, if you can! I would love to have my very best friend in the entire world there.”

“And who is that?” 

“You, you utter dolt.” 

Geralt hadn’t said anything in response but had then stared deeply into his bowl of porridge as Jaskier changed the topic and started talking about what he and Ciri had done together the previous day.

Hours later, before the fire and the entire company, Jaskier smiled and asked for requests, in which all of the adults present began shouting out songs he either knew or had heard a variation of before.

“Alright, alright,” he said, happy to see his audience so excited. “We have two love songs, one knight’s ballad, and one song that I think we should cover the children’s ears for. Any other requests?”

“Oh, please just start already!” Ciri said. “I told grandmother of your work and she  _ needs  _ to hear it so she can believe that you’re actually a bard.”

Calanthe didn’t say anything, but raised an eyebrow expectantly when Jaskier looked over at her.

“Of course,” he said, smiling. He started strumming his lute.

“ _ We’re no strangers to love, _

“Y _ ou know the rules, and so do I… _ .”

Jaskier sang his heart out. He had never had an audience this huge and this enthusiastic before, which technically  _ was _ a testament to his actual experience in being a bard, but it still meant the world to him. As he finished his first song and started another, he saw another person standing a bit away from the fire but close enough that he could make out who they were if he squinted.

Geralt was there, standing just out of sight of the actual fire. He was brooding as usual, and looked almost bored. But he was there, and when Jaskier stared at his face, their eyes met and there was that glimmer in them, the one that showed he was taking in his surroundings fully.

Well – no. Not his surroundings. Jaskier was focused on his music, but he could have sworn that look was only in Geralt’s eyes when he was looking at him. 

Jaskier continued singing as if nothing was unusual. The show must go on, and all that.

He sang song after song that night. Just as soon as he finished one round of requests, everyone would start coming up with more songs they knew. Even Calanthe asked him to play a song - though it was, as she put it, “something that isn’t so dreadfully dull”. Eist had tried to ask her to dance on one of the love songs, but she had refused by rolling her eyes and giving him an icy glare.

Mousesack announced that it was time for everyone to go to bed just after Jaskier finished a rather rousing song that required audience participation. (He would sing a verse, then pause and wait for them to repeat it.) Despite the buzz in the air from the excitement, Jaskier could admit that he was also tired - despite being his passion, music did take a lot out of a person.

Everyone said their goodnights (Ciri even gave him a hug) and walked off to their respective tents. Mousesack fussed for a moment over putting out the fire with water, or letting it die out (as they wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of a wet fire pit the next morning if the latter). It was still a bit too high to stamp out.

“I can watch it,” Jaskier offered. “Go on to bed, I’ll be there after it’s out.”

“If you say so,” Mousesack said with a shrug. He idled a moment more, obviously feeling somewhat bad about leaving Jaskier there alone, but ultimately his tiredness won out and he left a moment later.

Jaskier shook his head fondly as the older man left. The fire was dying down, as there were still a few flames, but it was mostly embers at this point. He strummed a soft tune on his lute absentmindedly.

Despite how he was tired, and how his body ached, and how he now had calluses on his hand, he couldn’t remember a time he felt this good before.

While he was strumming, he saw movement out of his peripheral vision. He looked up and saw Geralt approaching the fire. The Witcher had strayed away when the others had been leaving, most likely to avoid their scrutiny over why he didn’t join them. Geralt looked at Jaskier briefly, and sat down opposite to him, on the other side of the fire.

“Hey,” Jaskier said softly. “What did you think of tonight’s performance?”

“Hm.”

“That good, huh? I knew you would appreciate it once you properly heard my music.”

“Hm.”

“Though, in fairness, you are the only one so far that has heard an original song by me. You should feel special.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for coming,” Jaskier said softly. He looked down and smiled, almost abashed. “I…I didn’t think you would come. But it means a lot to me that you did.”

Geralt didn’t ‘hm’ this time.

Jaskier looked up at him. The low light of the fire cast strange shadows over his face. His golden eyes looked dark, as if they were all pupils. His cheeks seemed gaunter and more hollow. His complexion also seemed even more pale in comparison to the dark surrounding them.

He would have looked frightening, if he wasn’t Geralt.

“Do you have any song requests, my dear Witcher?”

There was no answer, but Geralt shifted a bit at Jaskier’s words. He took that for a yes. He began playing a different, yet familiar song on his lute and sang.

“ _ A storm breaking on the horizon, _

_ Of longing and heartache and lust…. _ ”

Geralt didn’t stop him from playing this song, so he must have enjoyed it. Plus, being honest, he was running out of songs that he knew that he hadn’t already played that night. He went through the verses and choruses and watched Geralt’s face carefully. That alerted glimmer of emotion was there in his eyes, but otherwise he was still stoic.

“ _ Your current is pulling me closer _

_ And charging the hot, humid night _

_ The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool _

_ Better stay out of sight. _

_ I’m weak, my love, _

_ And I am wanting….” _

Jaskier looked up at the Witcher again and saw that he had closed his eyes. He smiled and continued.

“ _ If this is the path I must trudge, _

_ I welcome my sentence, _

_ Give to you my penance, _

_ Garrator, jury, and judge…. _ ”

Jaskier continued singing, and the fire died out almost at the exact second he finished the song. As he strummed the final cords on his lute, he and Geralt were plunged into absolute darkness. The moon was bright that night, so Jaskier could see somewhat, but his eyes still needed a minute to adjust.

Neither of them said a word. The silence wasn’t heavy or overbearing. It was pleasant, in fact. Comfortable.

After a few minutes though, Jaskier noticed how sore his ass was getting from sitting on the ground in the same position for the sake of his lute. He stood up, and gave a stretch.

“So, what did you think of my singing tonight? Still like your filling-less pie?”

“...Hm,” Geralt said, and then continued after a few seconds. “It’s more pleasing than other sounds I’ve heard. Such as nails on a chalkboard, or cutlery scratching on plates.”

“Coming from you, that’s a pretty high compliment.” Jaskier gave an amused huff and walked over to Geralt. He held out a hand. “Are you going to bed?”

Geralt stared at his outstretched hand, as if he was unsure of what to do with it. After what seemed like some serious consideration, he took it gently and Jaskier pulled him up. Well, attempted to at least. Geralt seemed to miss the point of being offered a helping hand and stood up entirely by himself while lightly keeping his hand on top of Jaskier’s.

He let go as soon as he was standing. Jaskier let his hand drop to his side once free. He contemplated for a minute about how that was the first time he had touched Geralt’s skin - aside from the first night. But that seemed like centuries ago. In reality it had only been a few weeks, but Jaskier felt like he was getting to know Geralt for the first time again, and that their first meeting didn’t count or matter.

Even if they had kissed.

Jaskier felt himself go red at the thought.

“I am going to bed,” Geralt finally said.

“Good. Sleep. Maybe you won’t be so grumpy.” Jaskier gulped. “Walk me back to my tent?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he asked that. Geralt didn’t say anything for a moment, but did stare at him. His hand went up for a split second, as if he was going to offer it to Jaskier but he put it down just as quick.

“Hm.” Geralt said. He turned around. “Grab the back of my shirt and I’ll lead you there.”

“O-oh - alright.”

Jaskier did as he was told, and grabbed the bottom of Geralt’s black shirt. The Witcher walked fast, and he lost hold of it several times. Geralt seemed to notice after a while, though, and slowed his pace slightly. They walked for about a minute or two, and they were then outside Jaskier’s tent.

“Well,” Jaskier said. He could feel himself blushing and he hoped to whatever higher powers were up there that Geralt couldn’t see, despite his ability to see in the dark. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“Hm.”

“Will you be alright getting back to your tent?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.” Jaskier chuckled nervously and stared up at the Witcher. He still couldn’t see perfectly by the light of the moon, but he knew his own blue eyes were meeting Geralt’s golden ones. “Have a good night, Geralt.”

“Hm.”

“Sleep well.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Hm.”

“See you in the morning.”

“Hm.”

“Try not to-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, sternly. “Shut up and go to bed.”

Jaskier gave a small laugh. “Alright, alright. Good night.”

Jaskier turned and went into his tent. Mousesack was already snoring. He sneaked to where his blanket and discharged doublet lay, and quietly took off his boots and trousers. He hunkered down and got comfortable - as impossible as that sounded, sleeping on the ground - and he closed his eyes with a wide smile on his face.

That night, he had a similar dream to the one he had his first night with the camp. Long, white hair. Golden eyes. Chiseled features. A surly voice speaking to him in low whispers.

But this dream was also different. It wasn’t  _ entertaining _ . There was no sex or raunchy fantasies of his; there wasn’t even nudity.

Instead, his dreams featured three things, in this order:

Geralt smiling. His eyes were warm and bright, with a touch of softness in them. He looked genuinely happy.

Himself, Jaskier, smiling back and staring into his deep, golden eyes. He was saying something funny, something that made Geralt laugh.

And the two of them leaning their faces closer and closer together, until they finally met in the middle.

* * *

Jaskier woke up the next morning feeling light. He got up before Mousesack did, saw the sun wasn’t yet up, and decided to let the older man sleep for a little longer. 

He then proceeded to gather the supplies for breakfast, and soon enough found himself down by the nearby river. He had gone to simply fill up his bucket with water to help prepare some breakfast for everyone, but found himself sitting on the river bank, staring into its depth with a content smile on his face. 

He wasn’t sure why, but today felt particularly good to him.

Eventually, he got up and got his water. He went back to camp just as the sun was rising, and he watched as Mousesack walked out of the tent and visibility was surprised to see him up.

“Good morning!” Jaskier called to him.

“Er - good morning.” Mousesack went over to the fire pit and met Jaskier there. “You’re up early?”

“Yeah, I dunno. I don’t even feel tired.” He had prepared all the supplies to cook breakfast already and proceeded to pick up the tinder box and pull out the flint. He started striking it over the wood in the pit. “It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

“It’s, er, fine enough.” Mousesack squinted at him. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine, how are you doing?”

“Fine as well.” There was a pause. “I’m going to go piss.”

Mousesack walked away, and Jaskier started the fire up. He began to boil the water for the porridge .

“Good morning,” a gruff voice said.

Jaskier looked up with a delighted smile on his face. Geralt was there, standing across the fire from him.

“Good morning, Geralt,” he said. His heart started racing a bit. Was it a hot day outside, or was it just him? “How are you doing this morning?”

“Hungry,” Geralt said, and promptly sat down. He said nothing else.

“I’ll make you some porridge ,” Jaskier said, a bit too cheerfully.

Geralt stared at him, confused. “Of course?”

A few minutes later, the water was boiling and the oats in it were expanding. A few minutes after that, Jaskier had a piping hot bowl ready for the Witcher.

“For you,” he said.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and stared at him. He took it slowly, and then began eating.

Mousesack hadn’t returned yet. Jaskier didn’t think much of it, or about it at all frankly. He simply stoked the fire and occasionally looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes. He always felt himself blush and found himself looking away as if scandalized when the Witcher met his gaze, however.

And then he’d always then smile to himself, as if Geralt’s eyes weren’t still stuck on him. He would try to focus on the task at hand – not letting the porridge burn – but he found his brain a little foggy today. Really - was it the heat?

Jaskier then looked up at Geralt again, almost as if he couldn’t help it, and found himself repeating the whole process over again.

It was almost funny, Jaskier thought. He was acting like a little schoolboy in front of his crush. Honestly, it was ridiculous. Utterly stupid! Why would he be acting this way?

Musing about this, he looked up at Geralt. The Witcher was somewhat a messy eater and had managed to smudge porridge all over his face despite eating with a spoon. Jaskier found himself smiling at that – it was just so  _ endearing _ . He almost let out a deep sigh, thinking about going over to Geralt and wiping off his face and making a huge, playful fuss.

And then his brain finally caught up with his heart, and he realized what was happening.

_ Ah _ ,  _ fuck _ .

Geralt caught his gaze and narrowed his eyes – making Jaskier keep it. The Witcher frowned slightly and then, for some odd reason, sniffed the air heavily. His frown deepened.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” he finally said.

Jaskier swallowed as his mind raced to come up with a good enough answer. He forced a smile and an eyeroll. “Ha. Can’t I be in a good mood?”

“...Hm.”

Jaskier kept his forced grin and turned back to the food he was preparing. He knew his face was bright red, and his heart was beating wildly. He hoped to whatever gods were out there that Witcher’s didn’t have enhanced hearing along with night vision.

Mousesack then came back, hair damp. He had obviously bathed. He stared at Jaskier for a minute, and then his eyes slid to Geralt. He didn’t say anything, but wordlessly took the ladle that had apparently been in Jaskier’s hand and stirred the porridge .

The three men were silent for a few minutes. Jaskier felt like he wasn’t breathing.

Geralt handed his bowl to Mousesack and walked off after a few minutes had passed. Mousesack had tried to talk to Jaskier, but Jaskier gave one-word, non-committal answers. The rest of the company arrived for their breakfast, and the rest of the morning was a haze of chores and complex emotions.

Around lunchtime, Mousesack had given Jaskier some time off. In truth, there really wasn’t much to be done around camp that day and Jaskier had been so spacey that he hadn’t really been finishing his tasks as well as the older man would like.

So that was how Jaskier found himself in the forest, sitting on a large rock he found. He was hunched over, cross-legged, and had his hands on his face. He had been starting at the same spot on the ground for the past hour, in a mix of brooding and fantasizing about kissing Geralt’s dumb, absolutely  _ stupid _ face.

Dear gods, he had the chance to sleep with him the night he first arrived but  _ now  _ his soft heart had to go and have feelings for the white-haired grump?

What was he even to do?

Jaskier suddenly saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and knew it was a person. He didn’t turn to look at them or greet them, but instead kept staring ahead and ruminating.

“Jaskier?” the person said.

He ignored them, not in the mood to be social for once.

“Jaskier? What are you doing out here?”

He sighed, annoyed.

“Jaskier?”

“What?” he snapped, turning his head.

All the annoyance in him dissipated when he saw it was Dara. The boy didn’t look upset or anything, but Jaskier felt like he was two inches tall at that moment.

“Oh, hi Dara,” he said. “I’m sorry for yelling, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Thanks,” Dara said. He stared at Jaskier for a moment, as if sizing him up. “What are you doing out here?”

“Lamenting. Considering options. Why are you here?”

“Just wanted a break from practicing my performance.” He pointed at the rock Jaskier was on. “Can I sit?”

Jaskier moved over and patted the space next to him.

He had never really spoken more to Dara - in truth, he was mostly friendly with Mousesack, Ciri, and Geralt. In fact, he had never seen him this up close before. How had they never sat near each other before this moment?

Dara was probably around fourteen or fifteen. He was black, with handsome dark skin, and he always wore a hat even when it was hot out. His rich brown eyes showed most of his emotion, though he wasn’t a stoic like Geralt. He let his face say what he was feeling most of the time, when he was comfortable. He also consistently looked tired. He was always nice though, even if he was a bit shy.

“Why are you lamenting?” Dara suddenly asked.

“Er, I dunno, to be honest.” Jaskier sighed and stared ahead. “I, er, realized something today. Not anything bad, just…well, I dunno. I feel almost embarrassed. But that has never happened to me before in similar situations.”

He cast a side-along look at Dara, and the boy merely blinked at him.

“Uh,” the boy said. “Well, that sounds rough. Did someone say something rude to you, or something? Anyone been mistreating you?”

Jaskier smiled, touched at his thoughtfulness. “No, nothing like that. That would’ve been an easier situation to handle – you just hurl insults back until they like you.”

Dara frowned, as if there was a joke he wasn’t getting and cocked his head to the side. “Is that how you make friends?”

“Not usually, but sometimes.”

“Huh, alright.” Dara was silent for a moment, and then suddenly blurted out, “You’re not going to leave the company, right?”

Jaskier turned his head fully to look at the boy. He opened his mouth to respond but then caught a glint of apprehension in his eyes. Not fear, but a genuine uneasiness – one that suggested that whatever Jaskier answered, he would respect but wouldn’t necessarily be happy if he said “yes”.

“What makes you ask that?” Jaskier finally said.

“Well…we’ve never seen you this upset before, nobody back at camp knows what’s going on. I think even Calanthe is a bit worried about it.” Dara sighed. “Ciri…is  _ really _ worried. She thinks it has to do with Geralt’s performance, and she’s blaming herself because she’s the one who explained it to you. And, I just…she’s my family. I don’t want to see her upset.”

“She’s your family?”

“My parents are dead.”

“Oh, I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize, please.” Dara was still staring ahead. He didn’t seem distressed despite the conversation topic, but he seemed tense. “I think you’re a good person, Jaskier. I would understand if you left, but…well, don’t leave. Ciri would miss you. I…I think I would miss you. You liven things up.”

Jaskier blinked, unsure how to respond to the suddenly declaration. “I…well, thank you?”

“I, uh, really want you to stay. But I understand wanting to leave the company. I’ve almost done it a few times.” Dara’s hands suddenly went up to grip the edges of his hat. “But…please stay? I just…”

He wasn’t pleading. The boy’s voice was even the whole time, despite his pauses and stammers. He was nervous but level-headed.

“I thought maybe this would convince you.” Dara’s grip on his hat tightened, as if a strong breeze was going to blow it off. “I don’t usually show people this but…I wanted to show you as a sign that I trust you. That  _ we _ trust you. And that you would be missed.”

“Dara, what are you - ?”

Dara suddenly whipped off his hat. “Look.”

Jaskier stared. He wasn’t entirely sure what Dara was showing him. His hair?

But then he saw it. The boy’s ears ended in a delicate point.

He was an elf.

Elves were rare to see nowadays, though may still existed. They typically kept to themselves, as humans had started a cultural aversion to magic.

“Oh,” was all Jaskier could say.

Dara shoved his hat back on his head. He wasn’t nervous anymore, seeming to take Jaskier’s reaction as a positive thing. He sighed deeply

“I know you’re upset over something but, well,” he said quickly. “I really like your music. Everyone in the camp does. Hell, we all really like you. So, uh, if there’s anything we can do to make things easier on you, so you don’t leave….”

“Dara,” Jaskier interrupted. “I’m not leaving the camp.”

The boy breathed a huge sigh of relief. He then squinted up at Jaskier and pushed him roughly on the arm.

“Why the hell didn’t you say that in the first place?” Dara then huffed. His face was more animated now that he wasn’t trying to be diplomatic. He crossed his arms. “You just let me give you that whole speech while you  _ weren’t _ planning on leaving?”

Jaskier laughed, feeling his shove had been every bit deserved. “I was never going to leave. I’m somewhat confused about where you got that idea? Something about Geralt’s performance?”

A shadow passed over Dara’s face and he winced. “Ah…yeah. Ciri said she explained it to you and was worried she made it sound so dreadful that you would quit. Since we’re coming upon the city soon, she thought that you finally got cold feet about it.”

“I can assure you that Geralt’s performance has nothing to do with my current mood,” Jaskier said lightly. Golden eyes glowed his mind as he briefly thought about the Witcher and he blushed. “Well – ah, Geralt himself is somewhat of my issue. But that’s an adult problem.”

Dara narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “I know what sex is.”

Jaskier’s face heat up even more. “I – that’s not –“

Dara then laughed. It was the first time Jaskier had seen the boy do so. It was a pleasant sound, though it was obvious he didn’t do it often.

It made Jaskier smile. When he calmed down, Dara grinned back.

“You wouldn’t mind if I told Ciri and everyone else that you’re not leaving?” he said. “Triss said she isn’t concerned – something about how you’re braver than you look? – but I know Ciri and Mousesack are worried.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’ll tell them myself too, if I happen to see them first.”

“Appreciate that. So what are you going to do now about your ‘adult’ problem?”

“Hm.” Jaskier thought for a second. “I think I’m going to...talk to Geralt.”

He and Dara sat there for a while longer, chatting a little and then sitting in silence. They eventually got up and headed back to camp. Despite his previous mood and the fact that he didn’t have a plan about how to go about these,  _ ahem _ , newfound feelings for Geralt, Jaskier felt lighter.

That all changed, however, when he and Dara arrived at the edge of their small encampment in the small clearing in the woods and saw Geralt covered head to toe in metal chains and locked restraints. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....technically saturday in my timezone but i have a migraine so that's my excuse for posting "late" lol
> 
> i feel like the fandom overlooks dara a lot?? idk that's why i wanted to give him some time to shine. i also always love fics that try to flesh out the background characters too, so that's what i'm trying to do. 
> 
> anyways. thank u all for reading! hope you're having as much fun as i am.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He might have thought it was a joke if there were only one or two small restraints on Geralt, but instead he was covered.

There was a heavy collar around his throat that rested heavily against his collar bone. Beneath that, there were two sets of chains keeping his arms locked to his sides, and then a set around his ankles that looked like they allowed him enough space to walk, but not run. Worse of all were his hands - not only were they clapped in a pair of manacles, but they were so tight that it looked like he would snap his wrist if he attempted to move them at all.

Calanthe was there, holding a chain attached to Geralt's collar. She turned slightly when she saw them and then turned back to Geralt, unbothered.

“Hello, Dara,” she said casually. “Hello to you too, bard. Perfect timing. We were just checking to make sure Geralt’s restrains still fit snugly.”

“His  _ restraints _ ?” Jaskier croaked out.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first; yell at Calanthe or get Geralt out of those horrible restraints. A million questions ran through his mind and yet none could find their way to his tongue. He shot a glance at Dara, hoping to maybe have an ally in this, but the young boy merely grimaced sympathetically at Geralt and said nothing.

“Yes, his restraints.” Calanthe let the chain on Geralt’s collar fall gently. It thudded against the Witcher’s chest. “I thought Ciri told you? You didn’t forget, did you?”

The tone in her voice suggested she would be displeased if she was to learn otherwise. And not with Ciri.

“Ah, right. I remember.” He looked up at Geralt briefly but had to look away when all he saw was resignation in his eyes. “Just, uh, didn’t expect them to look like this. A bit bulkier than I imagined.”

“Ah, yes.” Calanthe sighed and turned back to Geralt. She pulled a key out of her pocket and walked to his back, where she unlocked the collar. She pulled it off him and tossed it to the ground, where it landed with a  _ thud _ . “I genuinely do wish we didn’t have to do this, but the law is the law.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, feeling Geralt’s eyes on him.

Calanthe unlocked the rest of Geralt’s restraints and tossed them on the ground. She told Geralt and Jaskier to go over them, and learn how each one worked and unlocked. She and Dara then took their leave, with Calanthe saying they both needed to rehearse yet again before they hit the city.

Dara shot a look back at Jaskier as he left. His expression was sympathetic yet not disturbed. As if this was normal for him, despite how he wished it wasn’t.

Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to look at Geralt just yet, despite how they were now alone. He was staring at the pile of metal on the ground, that he apparently had to learn how to entrap and incapacitate Geralt in.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. “We should practice.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

The two went over each restraint; how it worked, where it went, how it locked and unlocked, and how to tighten and loosen them. There was one key that locked and unlocked all of the pieces. If it was lost, they were royally fucked.

The metal pieces were heavy and Jaskier struggled to lift some. Some landed roughly against Geralt because of this, but the Witcher didn’t seem to mind.

The entire task took up most of the afternoon and the sky was orange and pink as they were ending.

After Jaskier had finally perfected getting the last piece of metal off of Geralt, he threw it to the ground and immediately sat down on the forest floor. He looked down at his hands, looking at where new callouses would grow and where he had cut himself on sharp edges. Geralt was silent but remained standing. He was staring at Jaskier, but his face was stoic as usual. 

Jaskier finally looked up at him. “Sit with me.”

Geralt promptly sat across from him on the ground.

Jaskier sighed. There was a hangnail on his one finger and he picked at it nervously. “I had wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What?” 

“Well, now I feel like it’s irrelevant since...this happened.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the whole chaining you up thing.” Jaskier sighed and looked up at Geralt. “I lied to Calanthe. I really have no idea what she was talking about or why we had to do this. So, uh, can you tell me why?”

“Why what?’ 

“Why...well, I don’t know.” Jaskier frowned. “Why do we have to chain you up like an animal?”

“Why do you seem so upset over this?”

“It bothers me, obviously.”

“Why?” Geralt’s voice was low and serious, but confused.

Jaskier looked up at him in surprise. “I don’t want to see you being mistreated? It doesn’t seem fair.”

The Witcher stared at him and blinked once. “Hm.”

“Of course,” Jaskier said under his breath and gave a small eye roll. He then said out loud, “But please, Geralt. Why?”

“How much do you know about Witchers?” Geralt asked.

“Not much.” 

Geralt gave a huff. “I thought so.” He paused. “There are restrictions about Witchers entering cities. We’re mutants. We’re one of the last ties to magic that this world has, and that scares people.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Many people think Witchers are a myth. To them, a Witcher is the same as a kikimora or striga. We’re monsters. Suddenly one crops up, and everyone panics. Unless, of course, it’s restrained.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt in horror. “But - but you’re clearly just a man! Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“People don’t care.” Geralt sighed. “There is also...something else that goes into my performance. Something that would make you understand why I believe the restraints are necessary.”

“What is it?”

Geralt was silent.

“Geralt, what is it? Do you go on a wild rampage when you’re around large amounts of people or something? Do you magically grow horns and fangs and giant wings?  _ What _ ?”

“You were right on the first guess,” Geralt sighed. “My performance involves fighting large animals. Bears, lions, the like. To fight these creatures bare-handed requires a lot of stamina and vitality.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Alright?”

“The average human being would most likely not survive an attack from a large predator. A Witcher might, but not without some help.” Geralt reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with black liquid. “I...take these potions to give me extra endurance I need when fighting.”

Jaskier stared at the vial, and then reached out a hand to take it. Geralt gave it to him. He examined it on all sides. The bottle was no bigger than his pinky finger, and the liquid inside was thick and mud-like. He looked up at Geralt. 

“So... you take drugs?”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier handed him back the vial.

“I suppose,” Geralt said finally. “The Witchers of old used to have specific potions for specific enhancements they needed. They were also taught how to make them and where to buy ingredients.”

“I take it that it’s different for you?”

Geralt nodded. “Witchers are extinct save for me and a few of my brothers. We didn’t get to learn how to make potions, we had to experiment to see how to make them. How to enhance ourselves. We never got the recipe right, but we found something that works half the time.”

“The other half of the time?”

“We go mad.” Geralt closed his eyes. “You compared me being chained up to an animal. That is what we become if we consume too much of the potion. Mindless. Blood-thirsty.  _ Hungry _ . We can hardly talk or even think. It passes through our bodies eventually, but for a few days we are nothing but wild, feral animals.” He opened his eyes, a sharp glint in them. “ _ Monsters _ .”

“Why do it then?” Jaskier asked. “All I can see is that you do this for the performance. Then why be a performer? Why specifically do this?”

“Witchers can be three things,” Geralt said, his tone even despite how there was a dark shadow crossing over his face. “Dead. Mercenaries. Or something the common folk pay coin to see. Everyone wants to see a Witcher, but no one wants to see a Witcher do fucking juggling or tell jokes. When they find out Witchers exist, they want to see a Witcher fight.”

“But surely there’s something else that you could do?”

“If you can think of an idea, let me know.” Geralt huffed. “I prefer it this way. I bring in the most coin with the fights I do.”

Jaskier sighed and looked away from Geralt. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Geralt snapped. Jaskier looked up and he was glaring. “Accept it or leave, bard. I will not change my way of life for you.”

“Geez,” Jaskier said. He stared at Geralt for a second longer and let out a small laugh. “Why are you always so serious? I don’t like it but I hardly doubt I could ever change your mind. If you like being tied up and chained, far be it from me to stop you.”

The anger melted off Geralt’s face. His expression was confused, then even relieved for a moment before it went back to being stoic. “Good.”

The two sat there for a few more minutes in silence, as the sky grew darker above them. Jaskier finally pulled off his hangnail, and it hurt. Geralt stared at the ground, as if he had no thoughts in his head.

“You said you wanted to speak to me,” Geralt said, breaking the silence.

“I did.” Jaskier shrugged. “Not sure if it’s relevant now.”

“What was it?”

“I just….hm,” Jaskier started. “I’m not sure how to say it. Maybe I’ll hold off on it for a while.”

“Hm?”

“Just, I dunno.” Jaskier looked up at the Witcher. “Are we friends, Geralt?”

The Witcher stared at him. “No?”

Jaskier winced. “Oh….”

“Witcher’s don’t have friends,” Geralt said, almost too quickly. His face stoic as always, his lips were ever-so-slightly turned into a frown. “Witcher’s don’t even have feelings.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt in shock, which then morphed into confusion. “You don’t think you have feelings?”

“I know we don’t.”

“But-“

Geralt suddenly got up, and started picking up the scattered shackles around them. The act made Jaskier shut up for the moment, and he knew then that the conversation was over. He started helping Geralt pick up the restraints, despite how heavy they were.

“Where are we taking these?” he asked.

“My tent.”

“Funny, I didn’t see them there the first night.” Jaskier’s grip on one of the chains slipped as he tried to pick it up, and it landed on his foot. He gave a yelp.

Geralt’s mouth twisted upwards into a small smirk. Not the smile he had dreamed of from the Witcher, but it was something.

“I keep them hidden,” Geralt said, now turning away and promptly walking back to camp.

Jaskier pouted in his direction and picked up the chain he had been trying to lift. He wobbled a little as he walked, off-balance and trying to catch up to Geralt. When he fell in stride next to the Witcher, he found that the small smirk was still on his face though it was a bit softer now.

He was also now glancing at Jaskier as he walked.

Jaskier felt himself blush, but neither he nor Geralt commented on it. They put the restraints back in Geralt’s tent, and then went about the rest of their evenings separately.

* * *

Jaskier played again for the entire group that evening. He did a few repeats of songs, though ultimately the older folks apparently did have a few more new requests in them. He was surprised at himself for knowing how to play so many songs.

Calanthe was there again. She hadn’t said anything to him about what she thought of his performance the night before, though Ciri had promised him that she was impressed. Staring into the Lioness’ piercing eyes, however, Jaskier could see nothing but animosity. He told himself that he didn’t care, that her opinion mattered little to him - just like how he lied to himself about how nervous he was playing in front of her.

Just as he finished the first round of the night, he spotted Geralt lurking in the dark a distance away from the fire. He hesitated for a moment as his small audience politely clapped around him. He then immediately grinned and called out, “Geralt! My  _ friend _ !”

Everyone else turned their heads, now seeing the Witcher standing a distance away, just out of the light of the fire.

“Why don’t you join us?” Jaskier asked, smirking.

“No,” Geralt grumbled. He didn’t move.

“Please, Geralt?” Ciri piped up. She moved to her right, making room between herself and Triss, as well as practically sitting halfway on Dara in the process. The boy rolled his eyes but didn’t push her off.

Geralt stared for a moment, huffed with great effort, and then moved to sit down next to Ciri. The young girl smiled.

“Alright, a full house,” Jaskier said, somewhat more to himself. “What shall I play next?”

“A slow love song,” Eist said, glancing sideways at Calanthe with a smile. “In which me and Her Majesty might be able to dance to.”

“Not on your life,” Calanthe replied. She turned her gaze to Jaskier. “Bard. Play the  _ least  _ sexually titillating song you know.”

“Of course, my queen,” he said with a showy wink. Jaskier began strumming and sang:

“ _ How can you see into my eyes, like open doors? _

_ Leading you down, into my core….” _

It wasn’t necessarily a fun song, but it was fast and contained a lots of angsty lyrics. He assumed the teenagers listening would appreciate it, and maybe Geralt too since the Witcher was the type to brood.

The song was well received by all, however, and Jaskier continued to play more and more into the night. Geralt’s face stayed stoic the entire time, despite how Ciri had placed her hand over his and was tapping along to the beats of the songs.

Jaskier was grateful and almost hoarse by the time Mousesack declared it was time for bed. As the children protested and Calanthe gracefully stood up and stretched, everyone progressively got up and left the fire. Mousesack fussed again about putting it out, or letting it die and Jaskier assured him that he could watch it.

Geralt had remained by the fire with him and was staring deeply into it. Jaskier strummed a soft tune in the silence and stared at the Witcher with a soft smile.

“You repeated songs tonight,” Geralt said.

“I did,” Jaskier replied, somewhat confused. He stopped strumming his lute. “I ran out of ones I knew by memory.”

“You still had one song you could have played,” Geralt said. He looked up from the fire into Jaskier’s eyes. His face was surprisingly not stoic for once. It seemed almost...calm. At peace. “Your sweet kiss.”

“What?” Jaskier frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“‘Your Sweet Kiss’.” Geralt sighed. “I’m assuming that’s the name of the song you keep playing for me.”

“I never really thought about a name for it before.” Jaskier shrugged. “Though I suppose it is fitting. Would you like me to play it?”

“Why not?” Geralt said, with the slightest of smiles on his face. Though it disappeared after a split second, it was still present in his eyes.

Jaskier was already playing the opening chords.

_ “A storm breaking on the horizon, _

_ Of longing and heartache and lust…. _ ”

He sang the song softer this night, the tune low and his voice sweet. His throat somewhat hurt from continuously singing all night - but he felt compelled to do this, as if he would be betraying a great promise if he didn’t.

Geralt seemed calm; at peace. The hint of a smile was still present on his face. He now had his eyes closed, and the image of a cat closing its eyes in pleasure came to Jaskier’s mind. The sight made Jaskier’s heart do a funny little flutter that subsided after a second. He kept singing.

“ _ I weak my love _ ,  _ and I am  _ wanting _. _ ”

He felt himself put some extra emphasis on the last word of that line. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but he felt it added another layer to the song. Well, that and it made Geralt open his eyes and stare directly into Jaskier’s. He blushed.

“ _ If this is the path I must trudge, _

_ I welcome my sentence. _

_ Give to you my penance; _

_ Garrotter, jury and judge _ .”

Jaskier knew he was smiling like an idiot back at Geralt while he was singing, but he didn’t care. In fact, he was pretty sure Geralt didn’t care either.

“ _ The story is this, _

_ You’ll destroy with your sweet kiss. _

_ Your sweet kiss,  _

_ O-o-oh. _

_ The story is this…. _ ”

Geralt was now smiling back at him. It was small, out in the open. His eyes were soft, and they were only looking at Jaskier. Despite being across the fire from each other, Jaskier felt as though he had never been closer to another person before that moment. And in that moment, nothing else existed.

“ _ You’ll destroy with your sweet kiss, _

_ Your sweet kiss. _

_ O-o-oh. _

_ But the story is this, _

_ You’ll destroy with your sweet ki-i-ss. _ ”

He held the last note briefly, then let his voice fade out. He strummed softly for about a second more, then too let that stop. He and Geralt were staring at each other still. Surprisingly, Geralt was still smiling at him. And he was smiling back,

“Well?” Jaskier asked. He felt breathless - and, truly hoarse this time. 

“Well what?” Geralt responded. There was an amused glint in his eyes. “Do you expect me to compliment you, bard?”

“I dunno,” Jaskier said, almost coyly. “I give you private concerts, and you attend every time. Seems to me like you’re a fan.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course, my dear Geralt.”

“I’m your ‘dear’ now?”

“I was using it as an adjective, not a noun.” Jaskier slipped his lute off himself and held it in his lap. “As in, I was calling you dear as a description not as a name.”

Geralt stared at him in silence for a minute, then gave a short snort. He rolled his eyes but his small smile was still there. “I have no clue what you just said.”

“You don’t know what an adjective is?” Jaskier was genuinely surprised and a bit worried he had ruined the moment. He felt a spike of anxiety rush through him. “It’s - er - a type of word?”

“I wouldn’t know, I can hardly read.” Geralt then leaned back where he was sitting on the ground, and tilted his head back. Jaskier heard a small pop in his back. He then turned his gaze forward again. “Pretentious ass. I  _ do  _ know that big word.”

Jaskier pouted. “I was trying to give you a compliment.”

Geralt then grinned - not big, nor kind but rather sarcastic. “Try harder next time, then.” He paused, grin fading. “Tell me what ‘Your Sweet Kiss’ is about.” 

Jaski frowned. “Now, that’s a bit personal-”

Geralt huffed but didn’t say anything else.

“What?” Jaskier asked, indignant. “It is personal!”

“How personal can it be if you write a song about it and share said song?”

“I’ve only shared it with you!”

Geralt raised one eyebrow slightly. “And why is that?”

Jaskier felt his face flush. 

Geralt suddenly stood up and stretched a little again. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to tell me. Need help getting back to your tent again?”

“I - I dunno?” Jaskier was slightly taken aback at the sudden change in topic. He stretched out his legs as he sat and leaned back, letting his back crack. “The fire’s still lit and I told Mousesack that I would watch it until it's out.”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier, now frowning. “Just douse it.”

“We don’t want the possibility of the pit being wet in the morning.” 

“It will dry.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“Stamp it out?”

“Yeah, I could do that.”

“But?”

“But I won’t. I’m….” Jaskier trailed off, hesitant to voice what he was feeling, how he didn’t want that night to end.

Geralt walked around the fire, and stood over Jaskier. He was bending down, as if to get a better look at him. “What’s wrong, bard?”

Jaskier stared up at him in the dying fire light. His face was pale against the darkness around him, almost deathly. His white hair took out unnaturally against the night. His eyes were dark again. Geralt was close – almost too close to Jaskier’s face - and he could see every scar and rough patch on it. Geralt was frightening. Terrifying.

And all Jaskier wanted to do was to reach up and cradle that scary face tenderly in his hands.

“Why are you so interested in the meaning behind my song?” Jaskier suddenly asked.

Geralt blinked, as if taken aback. “Well…” he started.

“Sit back down, please.” Jaskier still had his lute in his lap and placed it to his side. “I...I think I do want to tell you what it’s about.”

“You don’t have to-” Geralt started.

“I want to,” Jaskier affirmed. “Please, sit.”

Geralt did as he was told, and leaned forward. The fire was almost dead by now, and Jaskier could hardly see. He didn’t care.

“I, well, fancy men,” Jaskier said. “You obviously do too. I also fancy women, and anyone who is in between or neither.” 

“In between or neither?” Geralt asked.

“I’ve found that some people actually aren’t men or women; they simply do not ascribe to being one of these two genders. Fascinating, isn’t it?” Jaskier said with a slight smile, thinking back to some of his past lovers.

“Hm?” Geralt said, not judgmentally.

“‘Your Sweet Kiss’...was written about an ex-lover of mine. Another bard,” Jaskier continued as he looked down at his hands. “He broke my heart. Betrayed me. Nearly destroyed my life, quite literally too.”

He looked up. Geralt was glowering.

“What did he do?”

“Well, first I caught him cheating on me.” Jaskier gave a bitter laugh. “I am well-versed in the carnal arts, but I never sleep around when I’m in a committed relationship. I thought the same went for him, but apparently not.

“I then, of course, broke things off with him. Now, he didn’t like that, you see. The relationship wasn’t healthy, per se, and I didn’t realize that until it was too late.” Jaskier sighed. “He then also....told my father.”

There was silence. He looked up to see Geralt’s confused face.

“How would that destroy your life?” he asked softly, much too softly than he should have been able to.

“My father...did know now that I love more people than just women. He was disgusted by me, to say in the least. Threatened me, insulted me, beat me, just ....” Jaskier trailed off, and then took a deep breath. “Can I trust you, Geralt?”

Silence.

The last embers of the fire died, and they were thrust into the dark.

“I am a Witcher,” Geralt suddenly said. “A mutant. A monster. A killer. I can go rabid by swallowing a few small potions, and rip your throat out with my teeth. You won’t even see me coming or have a chance to fight back.”

His voice was low, and dangerous. It was not threatening, however.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jaskier said. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Then you trust me.”

“But  _ can  _ I trust you? Do you think you would hurt me right now, even though you can?”

Silence again. Then, “...No.”

“Then I can trust you.” Jaskier breathed out a sigh, tension leaving his body that definitely was not there over Geralt’s dark words. “Geralt,” he said, “I’m...I’m a minor noble. A viscount. And I ran away from my station.”

A pause. Then:

“Well, of course.” Geralt snorted. “We all know.”

Jaskier’s brain shut down for a moment. “What?”

“You act like a fragile little lord, you’ve never shit outside before a few weeks ago, and the way you talk makes it clear you had an education.” Geralt hesitated. “Also...you always smell nice.”

“How did you all know, though? Ciri didn’t tell you, did she?”

“She would never,” Geralt said, suddenly serious. “She is loyal to a fault. I have never known anyone more trustworthy.”

“Then how?”

“I just told you; it’s obvious.”

“Then why didn’t anyone say anything to me?” Jaskier gulped. “You’re all not just...keeping me around so you can turn me into the authorities, right?”

“We don’t care that you’re a viscount.” Geralt went silent again for a moment. “Did you commit a crime? Why would the authorities be after you?”

“What do you mean you don’t care? I care! My father is probably looking for me, he probably sent men after me to hunt me down and bring me back to that dreaded estate where he can control my life and take away my lute and force me to marry some boring woman regardless of who I love at the time and - and -”

Jaskier didn’t realize he was crying.

“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped. “We don’t care who you were. You’re Jaskier to us. You’re a good bard and a shit laborer, but you’re learning. If you do your job and aren’t a nuisance, we don’t care. Jaskier-”

“ _ Julian _ ,” Jaskier interrupted. “My real name is Julian.”

A pause. “Do you want to be called that?”

“No,” Jaskier said, sniffling a little.

“Then you’re Jaskier. The bard. The laborer. A member of this company.” Geralt sighed. “So stop fucking crying,  _ please _ .”

His tone wasn’t harsh despite his words. Jaskier swallowed hard and stared at the Witcher in front of him in the moonlight. He slowly placed his lute a safe distance away, and then promptly  _ launched  _ himself at Geralt.

“Jas-” Geralt started just as Jaskier fell on top of him. “Fuck!”

They both toppled over, though Jaskier’s fall was considerably softened by Geralt.

“Dammit, Jaskier,” the Witcher growled. “Why did you come over here?”

Jaskier had fallen perfectly aligned with Geralt, save for his legs being slightly at an odd angle. Their faces were nose-to-nose, with Geralt’s back flat on the ground and Jaskier on top of him.

Jaskier smiled. “To be closer to you, of course.”

“Why would you want that?” Geralt didn’t push him off or move, but his voice sounded annoyed. “I smell like onions.”

“You haven’t eaten onions in days, I would know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So are you.”

Jaskier, now close to him, could see Geralt’s eyes glinting in the darkness. He stared into them.

“You’re kind to me, Geralt,” he said. “Even when you’re not trying to be.”

“I’m not kind.”

“Then what was all that you just said to me before?”

“I just wanted you to stop crying.”

Jaskier grinned. The tear streaks on his face were drying. “Oh, yes. Of course you did. And because you obviously care about me.” 

There was suddenly a glint of fear in Geralt's eyes that Jaskier didn’t understand, but he felt his heart break a little when he identified it. It was like staring into the eyes of a wounded animal; the type of fear that denoted a powerlessness and the expectation of pain.

“Geralt?” he said.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said after a moment. His voice was low and raspy, and filled with fear. “Jaskier, I….”

“It’s alright,” Jaskier whispered. “I care about you too.”

And then they were kissing, for the second time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these bitches gay! good for them
> 
> sorry i didn't upload last week :/ things just kinda got away from me and tbh! i forgot. oof. but yeah, i'm having fun with this fic so that probably won't happen again!
> 
> also, a lot of you left some really nice comments.....i love you all so much. i still need to reply to them at the time of posting this! so just giving the disclaimer now in case you're reading this chapter before i replied to you: i love u and all that u said, and i am definitely planning on directly thanking you for your comments <3
> 
> update will be next week!


	5. Chapter 5

The kiss wasn’t pleasant.

Geralt’s lips were clammy with the cool air of the night, and his breath somewhat stank. He was gripping Jaskier a bit too hard as well, and frankly the whole laying-on-top-of-Geralt thing was cramping Jaskier’s legs. Geralt also wasn’t pushing back against Jaskier’s kiss. He had half a mind to pull off indignantly when-

Suddenly Geralt’s entire tongue was in his mouth.

Jaskier’s eyes flew open, and he gagged. He pushed off of Geralt, hitting the ground with an  _ “oomph”.  _ He laid there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling the Witcher move away from him. Jaskier coughed a few times and blinked to clear his head, and then finally sat up. He looked over at Geralt. 

Geralt, it seemed, was frozen to the spot. He had also sat up, and his face was a mixture of absolute horror and anger. When Jaskier coughed for the final time, and then looked at him, he saw that the Witcher had scrambled a small distance away from him. 

There was a tense silence for a few seconds. 

“Alright,” Jaskier finally said. He tried to keep his tone light and calm, as if trying to both berate and calm down a child who knew they had done wrong. “I - er - didn’t exactly like that. A bit of a warning next time, please.”

Geralt was silent for a second. The bitter expression of seemingly being rejected melted off his face, and then morphed into a look of confusion and a restrained bit of hope. He then said in an uncharacteristically small voice. “Next time?”

Jaskier paused, unsure of how to exactly proceed. “Ah...if you want?”

Jaskier couldn’t see very well since the fire had gone out, but he could have sworn the Witcher was shifting around uncomfortably.

“Why?” Geralt finally asked. His voice was back to his usual gruffness and the scant moonlight let Jaskier see that his expression had gone stoic. Even in the dark, though, Jaskier could see his eyes shining with alertness. 

Geralt was ready for an attack. He was preparing to defend himself.

Jaskier needed to word himself carefully here. “Why...what?” he asked after a moment. “Why didn’t I like your tongue being rammed into my mouth?”

“No,” Geralt said with a scoff, almost sounding offended. His tone then went flat again, defensively. “I meant...why did you kiss me?”

Jaskier paused, and considered what he would say next carefully. “...Did you not like that?”

“No!” Geralt all but yelled, and Jaskier could see his mask was slipping. He wasn’t trying to protect himself from Jaskier - but from his own emotions. And this was a battle he was losing. Geralt’s voice went soft again. “...I just don’t understand it.”

Jaskier desperately wanted to answer the question Geralt was too stubborn to ask outright - but the fact remained that he had no fucking clue what the damn Witcher was talking about. 

But he could also tell Geralt was getting more and more anxious every time he wasn’t immediately understood. 

Jaskier needed to do  _ something _ . 

He couldn’t change the situation. He couldn’t change what Geralt was feeling or thinking or acting. What could he change?

_ Think, Jaskier, think…. _

“Geralt,” he said. “Let’s, uh, go somewhere else. Somewhere private. Somewhere that you’re comfortable and I can actually see your face and….”

He trailed off. 

“My tent?” Geralt then offered, his voice hushed. 

Jaskier smiled slowly, knowing that the Witcher could see it in the dark. “That sounds excellent, my dear Witcher.” 

He swiftly got to his feet and picked up his lute. He then walked over to Geralt and held out his hand, to help him up. 

Geralt stared at his hand blankly, and stayed rooted to his spot.

Jaskier stared down at him in return and tried not to let any exasperation cross his face. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow and softly said, “Geralt?”

Geralt looked at his face, and then gingerly took Jaskier’s hand into his own. He didn’t use it to help himself up, but still kept hold of it while standing. He stared down at their entwined hands as if he couldn’t believe that it was happening. Jaskier took the initiative and took a few steps forward, tugging Geralt lightly as they started to walk. 

They headed back to Geralt’s tent hand-in-hand. Geralt’s grip, as always, was too light. It was as if he were holding a baby bird, or something as equally fragile. Jaskier was half tempted to squeeze his hand as they walked, but thought against it; there was no telling how Geralt might respond to that.

They arrived at Geralt’s tent, and went inside. It was mostly the same as the last few times Jaskier had been in. He sat down on the floor, towards the back and directly across from the entrance. Geralt was going through a bag he had near his bedroll, and pulled out some matches. He lit the little candles in bowls he had, and Jaskier could finally see his face.

He was stoic again. Well - mostly. His eyes always gave him away. Geralt was always so expressive with his eyes, but the rest of his demeanor was always so subdued. It had taken Jaskier a while to get used to it, with how he expressed his emotions. But once he cracked the code, it was easy to read Geralt.

Currently, his dear Witcher was confused. And scared. Looking at Geralt physically, Jaskier would guess that no one would think a man like that would ever feel fear. But he could see it. Geralt wasn’t afraid of the dark or of monsters or even of social convention; but what he was afraid of was the oncoming conversation. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said finally. “Let’s talk.”

Geralt's eyes snapped to Jaskier’s face and his back was straight as a spear. He was tense, as if preparing to pounce. 

“Yes,” the Witcher said cautiously. 

“I like you,” Jaskier said slowly, wanting the words to sink in. “I like you a lot. That’s why I kissed you.”

He paused.

“Ah, that’s it,” he said, a bit more casually now. 

The tension in the tent didn’t ease. If anything, it got worse. Geralt’s jaw was now tightly clenched and there was a glower in his golden eyes. His head hung slightly forward and a few locks of his white hair fell in front of his face, obscuring it slightly. 

“You’re...you’re joking,” the Witcher finally said, in a low voice. 

This took Jaskier a moment to process. “Ah... _ what _ ?”

Geralt suddenly gave a dark laugh, a low and guttural sound that came out almost pained. “You are  _ joking _ , bard. I’m a Witcher. I’m a  _ monster _ . I’m ugly and scarred and mutated and  _ inhuman _ . People don’t  _ like _ me. They fear me.”

His voice was so full of danger and righteous conviction, that Jaskier nearly believed him himself. But then he looked at that scary face and those angry eyes, and his heart melted. The man before him was no monster; he was just  _ Geralt _ . 

Jaskier realized it had been a moment since Geralt had last spoken, and that he had been staring at him the whole time in silence. 

“I’m not people,” he finally articulated, firmly.

Geralt picked up his head and then grinned. But it wasn’t the soft smile he reserved for Jaskier, or the proud one he had for Ciri. It was cruel. Angry. Like when an animal bared its teeth when threatened.

“Stop lying to me,” the Witcher said, the look in his eyes saying that he was ready to attack. “You’re just like everyone else. You’re a normal person, with normal problems. You’re young and attractive, and people  _ like  _ you. You’re just a normal man. You could never  _ like  _ a monster like me.” 

It was now Jaskier’s turn to clench his jaw and glare. “You’re making a lot of false assumptions about me,  _ Witcher. _ You’re wrong.”

“And you’re just a stupid little rich boy who knows nothing about life,” Geralt spat out at him. He then took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. “Get the  _ fuck  _ out of my tent, Jaskier.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath. Well, that hurt. 

“Fine,” he said in an even voice. He promptly got up, and walked to the entrance of the tent. He paused there for a moment but didn’t look back. “See you around, Geralt.”

And he left, into the night. 

Jaskier walked all but four yards away from the tent before his tears started falling. He sniffled a bit and tried to keep quiet, hoping not to wake anyone as he passed by their tents. But - he couldn’t help it. The tears fell and his throat felt tight and there was a heavy weight on his chest. 

_ Fuck _ , he cursed in his thoughts.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! _

Jaskier wasn’t even sure what he was upset about; the insult or the harsh rejection. Or even the fact that he had tried so hard with Geralt that night, tried to be so accommodating - only to have it thrown back in his face. 

His feet somehow found the dark and empty fire pit, where he had kissed Geralt not too long ago. He sat down on the ground in a heap and let out a small sob. 

It was stupid. Jaskier had gotten his heart broken practically a million other times before. He had been rejected even more times than that. He’d been called worse, cursed out more, and even downright abused at times. 

Yet  _ none _ of that hurt as much as Geralt had just hurt him.

And why? He wasn’t in love with the damn Witcher - he hardly knew him! He couldn’t even fathom why; in his old life, this experience was just a casual Tuesday for him - but now it felt like the end of the world. What was it about his new life that had made him this sensitive, this hopeful for a future with someone he hardly knew? He let out another sob. 

He had been sitting there for a while, when he suddenly heard movement from behind him. He didn’t turn to look at the source of the noise, both from apathy that the exhaustion from crying brought and because he knew he would be disappointed it wasn’t a certain white-haired bastard there to apologize. 

Not that Geralt  _ would _ ever apologize, he thought sulkingly. He really had a lot of pride for someone who evidently hated himself so much. 

Jaskier could tell it was a person behind him, as he had gotten used to the sounds of footfalls on the forest floor over the past few weeks. He almost shifted around to look at them, to say hi and ask them to stop and chat. But he didn’t.

The person came to him, walking closer slowly and then paused just behind him. They were breathing heavily. He heard them sigh, and then sit down, just out of his line of sight. 

“You forgot your lute,” Geralt said softly. 

Jaskier stiffened and then sighed. The tears had stopped flowing, but his cheeks were still wet. It burned a bit in the crisp night air. “Thank you for bringing it.”

There was a pause. “I, uh, didn’t bring it. That probably would have been a good idea.”

Normally, Jaskier would have laughed at that - but he didn’t have it in him right now. He remained silent and didn’t turn to look at the Witcher. 

“I got...overly angry at you over just a few small words,” Geralt finally said, sounding as though he was choking out the words. He wasn’t angry; but he obviously wasn’t happy doing this. “You’re not stupid or a little boy. Or even rich, now.”

Geralt went silent. 

Jaskier waited. 

Geralt was still silent. 

Jaskier sighed. “Anything else you would like to say to me, besides the most  _ basic  _ observations from that conversation?”

His voice dripped with disdain. 

“The way I acted towards you...wasn’t fair of me,” Geralt finally said, the wince evident in his voice. “I...I shouldn’t have...yelled at you?”

The last part came out as an obvious question, as if Geralt wasn’t even sure if that behavior had been wrong. 

“Oh, _ fuck you _ !” Jaskier suddenly cried. He moved around on the ground so that he was facing Geralt now. “You fucking bastard! You call that an apology? Bollocks!”

Geralt’s head was hung again, like it had been in the tent. Instead of being a sign of his tenseness, it seemed to be more in shame. 

“You...are right,” Geralt finally said, as Jaskier glared at him. 

“Of course I am!” Jaskier burst out with. “You were rude and mean and nasty, and downright hurtful! I understand you have some issues, Geralt, but that doesn’t mean you get to take them out on me!”

The Witcher stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

“You’re a real arse, did you know that? If you didn’t like kissing me so much, just fucking say so next time! No need to get all personal about it.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right.”

“And what’s what part again about me being a stupid little boy? Do you really think I’m  _ stupid _ ? I went to  _ college _ , Geralt. I’m a fucking scholar! They don’t just let anyone into Oxenfurt!”

“You’re right.”

“And let’s not forget-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted, voice tense. “Like I’ve said,  _ you’re right _ . You’re right about it all. Now, please, can we just...just…”

“Just what?” Jaskier said bitingly. “Move on?” 

“Yes!” Geralt said, and then when he saw Jaskier’s face, he backtracked and said, “No.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to look at Geralt. Not that he could, considering it was dark out and the moon was currently behind a cloud - but he hoped the message would translate to the damned Witcher with night vision sitting across from him. 

“Fuck you,” Jaskier said again. “Why are you even here?”

“Because….”

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open. “Because  _ what _ , Geralt?” 

A pause. “Because,” the Witcher said, voice even and calm now. “Because I heard you crying.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and glared. “And why would that make you come out here? Because you felt guilty?”

“Yes,” Geralt said quietly, but in the same eveness as before. “And because...you were right before. When you were crying earlier tonight.” The Witcher was looking at his hands, not at Jaskier. His hands were also currently picking at the grass on the ground in front of him. “I...think I do care about you.”

Jaskier frowned. “If you claim to care about me, you shouldn’t have yelled at me then.”

The Witcher sighed. “You’re right. Again. You’re right about it all.” Geralt finally looked up at him. Despite how Jaskier couldn’t fully see his face due to the night’s dark, he could practically feel the stoic expression Geralt was trying to school his face into. “And...I’m - I’m sorry.”

The last part almost came out in a whisper, but it made Jaskier smile. 

“You are  _ not _ forgiven,” he said. 

Geralt’s head whipped up in indignation and Jaskier could hear him start to speak. He put up a hand, which silenced him. 

“Fetch me my lute and help me with some of my chores, and then we’ll see where we stand,” he said, now business-like. There was still a lump in his throat that wasn’t going away and an anxious itch under his skin telling him to keep yelling at Geralt, but he suppressed both. “Also, I need you to answer a simple question for me before we do anything else.”

“Anything,” Geralt said, and sounded sincere.

“Do you like me?” Jaskier asked. 

Silence. It was hesitation, but not for Jaskier’s sake. This was Geralt, considering his words and weighing them against his thoughts. 

“Yes.” The word came out almost as softly as his apology. Geralt then repeated, “Yes, I do.”

Jaskier smiled again. “Then answer me this - do you  _ want _ to, I dunno, kiss each other and spend more time with each other?”

Another silent hesitation. Another quiet, “Yes.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, smiling. There were dried tear-streaks on his cheeks. “Excellent. I do as well.”

And now another silence. Not hesitation. Not necessarily comfort. But there was no tension, either. It simply  _ was _ . There was just Geralt, and Jaskier, and the rest of the world - not saying anything in that moment, but letting it go by just the same. 

“Do you...really care about me?” Jaksier finally said, breaking the silence. 

“Yes,” Geralt said, softly, as if he didn’t want the world to see or hear him. As if they wouldn’t understand, and as if Jaskier was the only one that would. “Yes.”

“Brilliant,” Jaskier said back. 

“Can we kiss again?” the Witcher suddenly asked. He sounded like an eager child, almost, but then calmed himself. “Only...only if you’re comfortable doing so.”

“I would like to kiss again. But just know you’re still not forgiven.” Jaskier gave a small laugh, but was serious. “And also just as long as you don’t shove your tongue down my throat again.”

Geralt bristled a bit at that comment, but didn’t say anything. He froze when Jaskier reached out and put a hand against his cheek. They stared at each other for a moment - Geralt into Jaskier’s blue eyes, and Jaskier into the darkness since he couldn’t see. They leaned in. 

They kissed.

Geralt’s lips were still chapped and his breath hadn’t improved much - but this kiss was much different from their earlier one. It was chaste, like their first kiss, and light. Geralt had brought up his hands to rest lightly on the back of Jaskier’s neck, and his grip was gentle. It was a soothing pressure, almost, as if to say  _ I’m here with you, I won’t hurt you _ .

They moved a bit with it, sliding their lips against each other with slightly parted mouths. Jaskier, the minx, was tempted to swipe his tongue out and really scare Geralt - and include this in his penance for all his harsh words. But he didn’t; he could understand the apology in the kiss. 

Geralt was a man of action and there was a reason behind every action he took. There was a reason he was being this gentle, being this soft, and being this  _ vulnerable _ . He was giving Jaskier the opportunity to take the lead and go further if he wished - but not pushing for it himself. He still wasn’t entirely forgiven but Jaskier found it sweet. He smiled into the kiss. 

Geralt’s eyes were still closed when they pulled away and there was a vulnerability on his face that Jaskier had never seen before. It almost made him look younger. Jaskier watched as the Witcher’s eyes slowly fluttered open and stared into his own.

“Alright there?” Great asked him.

“Yeah, you?”

“I’m fine. What would you like to do now?”

Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I think...I want to go to bed.”

“Then let’s get you to bed.” Geralt stood up swiftly and held a hand out to Jaskier. “Would you like me to walk you back to your tent?”

Jaskier took his hand and helped himself up on it. He let his fingers intertwined with Geralt’s. “No,” he said, bluntly. 

“Alright,” Geralt said, neutrally. 

They stood there for a moment more, and then Jaskier released Geralt’s hand. 

“ _ Good night _ , Geralt,” Jaskier said.

The pair stared at each other for a moment longer.

“Good night, Jaskier.”

Geralt waited as Jaskier walked off, watching him the whole time. He waited, until Jaskier was safely back in his own tent, and then waited a bit longer as well. 

After a few minutes of this, he then left his spot and went back to his tent as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was kindly beta'd by dragon_rider on ao3, who is also on tumblr at dragonjaskier! thank you so much, my friend <3
> 
> in other news, SO sorry this chapter was late. i promised this wouldn't happen again...but alas. i guess i should stop promising that, lol. 
> 
> and not to get all personal, but i'm gonna get personal. i started writing this fic back in like june. i got like two chapters in, and then all of a sudden my IRL life went to shit. like, not to get too detailed but let's just say the next few months after this time were very unstable for me. but! the entire time, i still kept writing this fic. as a result, a lot of my emotional issues are like subtly placed in this fic - though it might not always be obvious. I had written the original version of this chapter right after a major heartbreak from a toxic relationship in which i was convinced i was the one in the wrong even though i was the one actively being hurt....so, as a result, now that i've healed from this and learned that i had deserved better, i found that i didn't like the original version of this chapter. so i ended up re-writing the entire thing last friday, when i had meant to post it. but i feel like it was worth it. this version of the chapter is much fairer to me and to jaskier. i'm much happier with it
> 
> anyways, if thank you for reading this fic! i truly appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. love y'all <3


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